


Twilight Barking

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Puppy Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, how to break a serial killer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2307650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could at least go through the motions, because that was what his life was at the moment. Going through the motions of normality while screaming inside. Or was that hopelessly melodramatic and self-pitying?</p><p>Will wasn't sure, but the fact that he could at least consider the second one with an edge of snark to it was somewhat heartening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He carded his fingers through feathery fur, lingering through Winston's soft pelt. He felt his chest rise and fall with every breath, soft wuffles of sleepy sound from beside him. On all sides of him. He didn't let the dogs sleep in his bed, but he slept in theirs, and what did that say about him? He supposed it was a master's right to pick and choose when to wallow, when drinking and trying to blank his mind hadn't gotten him far enough from himself.

He was too close, and there was no getting away from it now, no back peddling, no getting free as he'd proven too useful, too precious a commodity to not spend. No, lives were a finite resource, and his bought back other lives, normal lives, people who were doing what needed to be done in the world, moms and kids and parents, the people who carried on unaware.

Unaware of the stag that followed him, that trod lightly through their dreams, driving him forward. He didn't know where it was pushing him, only that he moved and moved, walking endlessly towards some unknown point. It pushed him in offices, and pushed him in hospital rooms, and the fringes of undiscovered scenes. He could feel it breathing against his hair as he laid there with his dogs. Waiting, patiently, even though he'd already shaken off one dream of it.

Even now, he caught flickering hints of shadows if he opened his eyes, as if something large and looming was silently moving around him. He didn't understand why it terrified him, the king stag. Was it just because of the vivid images of the bodies impaled on antlers? The Shrike. Why would it be terrifying in and of itself? Deer were hunted and yes he knew all about the weird circles and symbolism that occurred, but the constant appearance of the stag did not fit anything classical. It had to be a deeper pattern.

There had to be a reason, something it was linked to, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't work it out, and lifting his head from the dozing position, looking for the imprint of the stag made him feel no less disoriented. Just his dogs, his family, his quiet small house and his safe space, or what he'd made of it. Nothing more, nothing...

Except a floorboard creaked quietly, to his left and behind him.

He didn't startle or leap to his feet. The dogs didn't react so that meant it was someone they knew and were used to so why the hell should he care if they came into his house and saw him sleeping nearly naked on the floor with his strays? Could be Jack, but Bertie, his little mop-dog had taken a dislike to him and tended to piss all over his shoes. Could be Alana, but she would have phoned first or knocked or called out or something.

Hell, who cared anyway?

He ran a hand over his face, and got up onto his elbows to glance groggy around for whoever it was. "What's happened now?"

"I believe Will, that you have missed an appointment." Of course, Hannibal would be the one to come in and drag him out. He felt momentarily bitter about that. He was pretty sure that he had no appointment to miss and Jack had probably invented it a couple of hours ago or something.

But of course the dogs liked Hannibal. He was probably feeding them gourmet cuts of meat while Will was away. Nothing but the best for his puppies, and his pack knew to respect a man who brought treats. The traitors.

He drew another breath, blinked, and struggled for a moment as he looked around. And then the room seemed to dissolve again, from his floor to his office.

His expression must have showed his surprise because Hannibal leaned forward, looking at him carefully. "I do believe Will you were elsewhere."

He took a moment to struggle with it, because he was sure he'd been sleeping at home, comfortable in his retreat from reality in his house, in his dogs, and now he was on the floor of his office, with Hannibal looking down. Will scanned the room again, finding it empty except for an overturned chair, and his desk. "I uh. Lost track of time?" It didn't sound very convincing to himself, either.

"Yes, it would seem you did," Hannibal said as he reached down to give him a hand up. "But as the appointment is past, I suspect you can take a moment to...come to yourself." His voice was as ever, low and measured and with a calm he suspected was unflappable.

Someday, Will decided, he wanted to see that calm shaken. But that day did not seem to be today, as he took the man's hand, and staggered to his feet awkwardly. "I guess I was more tired than I thought."

"An understatement." Hannibal had surprising strength as he helped pull him up. It was strange the way he leaned in. "Perhaps we are coming to the point where this is beyond a sleep disorder."

Will knew what that implied. He knew where that went, what it meant. Hannibal was thinking institutionalization, he was thinking that Will was past the limits of his capability, and he... He didn't know. Didn't know what to say, or what he was feeling as he got himself straightened up and shrugged the shoulders of his jacket to pull himself together. "Tell Jack I went home."

"Will, I would be remiss as a ...friend to allow you to drive in your condition," Hannibal said and tilted his head slightly. "I will take you home."

He trusted that he'd arrive back to his house, and wouldn't find himself side-routed to a mental hospital. Will just hoped he hadn't misplaced his trust in the other man, looking down at his desk's surface for a moment. "I... fine. Thank you. I can't remember if Jack wanted me for a meeting, or..." There had to be a reason why he was still there other than just exhaustion.

"Jack will have to do without you for the moment." Hannibal said with finality. "It will wait. He wanted you to parade with him in front of the press to reassure the media their best man is on the case." He looked at him with his dark eyes. "Unfortunately, you have just been stricken with a 48 hour stomach upset. I would say look ill, but I suspect that is unnecessary." 

Unfortunately true enough. Will let his gaze slide aside, looking resolutely at one of the wooden panels that provided the theater in the round effect of his classroom. He almost wanted to say he didn't want to be institutionalized, but no one had suggested it. Recently. It was just there, hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles. He rubbed fingers against the side of his own thigh, trying to get enough sensation to feel a little more in his head. Wringing his hands wouldn't have helped, not with Hannibal watching and judging and weighing the difference between taking him home and taking him *away*. "Thanks." 

"It is a simple thing," Hannibal said seemingly unperturbed by his fragmenting state. "Come now. It is well that we are friends rather than psychiatrist and patient, otherwise my option might be limited." 

It was in some strange way an attempt at reassurance as he reached with long elegant fingers to pull him up and draw him along.

He hesitated, grabbed his bag, and shouldered it, still moving slow and sluggish, wisps of sleep still clinging to him as he moved. "On the bright side, the dogs won't try to eat you."

"No indeed, or no fine sausages for them the next time I make them," Hannibal said pleasantly as if there was nothing wrong.

It was slow moving, but Hannibal seemed patient as they made their way out of the classroom and Will lingered long enough to turn off the lights. Then he let Hannibal lead him out, falling into step with him. Maybe it would look collegial, casual between them, and Will wasn't sure why he wanted to keep what had just happened hidden.

It was a weakness, and he knew instinctively predators were drawn to weakness. Perhaps he was trying to hide from the predator inside of himself.

"Have you eaten?" Hannibal asked as they made it to his car. He nearly smiled but most conversations with Hannibal swung back to food at some point.

"Not recently. Protein bar count?" He already knew the answer was no, but some part of himself wanted to watch the other man cringe.

"Really Will." Hannibal gave him a look of apparently genuine horror. "When you tell me such things I feel we should discuss your penchant for self-destruction. A protein bar has more in common with sawdust than nourishment.

"And 20 grams of protein," Will added, sticking a hand in his pocket as they walked. The edges of Hannibal's eyes crinkled up. It was easy to fall silent as they walked, casual, comfortable, and Will felt almost a lull of calm. Right up until the moment Jack caught them at the door.

"Ah, there you are!"

"You have saved me a phone call," Hannibal said so smoothly and calmly, there was no flicker of deceit. "I am afraid that Will is unwell.”

Will gave a tight smile, and didn't meet Jack's eyes. He seldom met the man's eyes, and he wasn't going to hedge his bets just then and have Jack start *commanding* him to be the good little investigator on a string for him. 

"Will? You've already started the case, you have to-"

"No. No, I don't. I'll, I need a break. I can't stop throwing up. I'll contaminate the scene."

"He is going home Jack," Hannibal said. "It is unfortunate, but I am sure that you can speak nicely to the media. It would not look good for a special agent to be vomiting on national television." Hannibal gestured. "Go, sit in the car. We will go home now."

"Unbelievable. Will, I just need you for..." He started to walk away, down the stairs, towards the part of the parking lot where Hannibal liked to park because all people, even Hannibal were creatures of habit and plaid. Will dimly heard 'Don't walk away from me!', but given that Jack wasn't following him, and he heard the soft beep beep of a car door unlocking, he gathered he was getting away with doing *just* that.

He tried not to listen to whatever was being said. He didn't want to go out there again. He just...did not. 

He was half surprised to hear the door opening and not a sound of Jack.

"As I said you are unwell. If anyone asks. If necessary, I will take a run into town and buy groceries." He gave a faint smile. "Let us behave as if you are genuinely unwell. I would not put it past Jack to come and double check on you." It was a very strange experience, hearing his friendly concern. It wasn't the worried, scared concern he usually recognized in others. It was...what it was. 

Bland and careful, but Hannibal wasn't unaware of what the problem was. It was as if, somehow, the actually knowing lessened his concern? Will wasn't sure. He keyed open his door, and made soft noises until his dogs backed up. "He suspects you'd lie to him?"

"He suspects that he could persuade you to drag yourself to work even if you were bleeding out," Hannibal said dryly. The dogs were happy to see him as well which he found reassuring. Winston always looked out for him.

He did a headcount as he waded in past them, and then they half-heartedly swarmed Hannibal. "Tccht. C'Mon, I'll let you out and you can give our guest some space."

"Will you rest in your room or ...where you believed you were earlier?" Hannibal asked as he moved towards his kitchen. He seemed perfectly at home in his house which was strange to see. He was used to seeing Hannibal in a large overly spacious room.

Two floor rooms, and wide architecturally crafted places. Will just watched him for a moment, and set his bag down, shrugging off his jacket while he opened the door to let the dogs out. He’d have to round them back up in a few. "I might just.”

"Then we shall fetch pillows and a blanket and ensure you are comfortable." Hannibal said and didn't wait for agreement. He just went off heading upstairs to find everything.

Strange. He was half sure that his psychiatrist was supposed to tell him to knock that shit off. Will was too tired to argue just then, and crouched down to scratch Winston's scruff before nudging him out the door as well. Wallowing, that's what he'd been hoping to do before.

Apparently he was being given opportunity to wallow and he was going to make the most of it. Fuck all of them, he needed rest. Sleep. Something.

He needed twenty four hours of space in his own head, to be left alone, to not work the case, and he couldn't even quiet himself out, either. Will lurked between living room and door, and did a slow reverse head count as they wandered back in one by one. Hungry now, and he was together enough to get food into their bowls and make sure they were taken care of. In the morning, when he felt better, he'd take them out to play.

Right now he just wanted the sick bone deep exhaustion that he lurched against to let him sleep rather than burn him with dreams.

"Pillows and a clean blanket," Hannibal said bringing the items in.

He was putting bowls down by then, still moving slow and sluggish. "I appreciate it. I'll go, uh, change..."

"Shower." Hannibal made it a statement of the inevitable rather than a suggestion. "You will feel better for it."

"You do this a lot?" He half asked, starting towards the stairs. There wasn't a lot of reason to protest the suggestion, and he could half smell that he'd been sweating.

"Shower? Of course." Another faint smile. "I came to see you at the office, and now I am seeing you at home. It is only the venue that has changed. I would endeavor to make you comfortable and then most likely prepare food and drink for you when we were not busy. This, as you know is my passion."

Yes, yes he did. He lifted his hands in a partial surrender, and started up the stairs. "My apologies for the barren cabinets." It was past time to stop protesting about the help and to just accept it.

"If I am not here, I will have despaired of your cupboards and gone to hunter gather," Hannibal said. "I will not be long."

He laughed then, waved on his way up the stairs, Winston weaving up way up the stairs alongside of him. "Whoever abandoned you was a moron," he groused quietly, holding the bedroom drop open for him as he started to peel his shirt off.

Winston gave a soft wuffle as he settled him near him. Winston had repaid his simple kindnesses with an undying loyalty. After being so badly mistreated, even the simple treatment he provided had obviously sunk in. 

He hated that people drove out his way and thought it was a place to just set a dog 'free' to be killed and eaten by something, or to just slowly starve to death. It was at least a human cruelty he could fix, stopping to pet him again as he toed off his shoes, undressing slowly to go shower.

Apparently Winston was going to sit outside and guard him. His did feel achy and not right, that much was no lie. He felt empty and tired, and he couldn't trust himself. The water was hot and stinging on his skin, as if he wasn't used to getting clean. He was, but it was possible that whatever was clinging to him wasn't, and was that a clue? Everything was, another glimpse. He took his time with the soap, though.

He could at least go through the motions, because that was what his life was at the moment. Going through the motions of normality while screaming inside. Or was that hopelessly melodramatic and self-pitying?

Will wasn't sure, but the fact that he could at least consider the second one with an edge of snark to it was somewhat heartening. He wandered back into the bedroom, dripping wet but feeling better, digging through drawers for a shorts and a t-shirt.

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been in there, but he felt cleaner than usual, and he had tried to concentrate on the feeling of washing rather than thinking. He wondered if Hannibal had gone out or found anything worth cooking with.

From the smells wafting upstairs, Hannibal was apparently cooking. Will tried to work out what he could possibly have had in the fridge that could smell so delicious.

Possibly the man could make even ground beef taste delicious. He was pretty sure he had eggs, other basics... "Thanks. I, uh. It smells good."

"A simple thing, chicken in a white wine vinegar and mushroom stroganoff, with broccoli in a cheese sauce, vegetables and crisped sauté potatoes. Or it will be," Hannibal said, looking up at him.

He had his shirtsleeves rolled up, and he was in the midst of prep, while Will stood there awkwardly and then wandered toward the living-room space that was just there. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Go and lie down and make a fuss of your dogs," Hannibal said. "Maybe when you have rested you will be able to cut straight."

Strange, to let someone fuss in his kitchen for him, while he laid down with his dogs, but it was easy to do. Hannibal wasn't judging him for it, had brought him home, and it was easier to let his fingers linger over soft fur and happy expressions, petting each one as he settled down with pillow and blanket, Winston and Rudy the closest, with Ike trying to lay on his ankles.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Hannibal? Not a target of opportunity. No, that didn't feel right. It was planned and executed. Perhaps Hannibal had irritated them by being out all night. Perhaps they had tried to take him at night? No. No, more likely someone following a weak spot in his routine. A watcher. If he was a watcher then there might be something outside.

It was an opportunity he couldn't resist, of course. Hannibal considered that he picked up his own variety of strays, and here was a classic case of a poor abused human, just ripe for the plucking. Will was special. He had the gift, he'd seen that in him from their first meeting. He'd been intrigued, and then pleased as Will read the scene, then read what he was *meant* to read, and then finally delighted when he read what he wasn't meant to see. Oh yes, hampered by the ridiculous behavior of Jack, but still, he had clawed his way to a glimmer of truth. From that point, he wanted Will. Wanted a protégé, an apprentice.

And here he was being tenderized emotionally by dear old blind Jack Crawford. The man who took other people's minds and souls and threw them on the emotional grenade of their work, with the smallest of pangs of conscience.

Minor, passing pain, and then Jack carried on. Like he had after his last promising pet. He left dinner to warm in the oven, settled into an overstuffed arm chair and watched Will from the corner of his eyes. Waiting for Jack to come, because he would come.

Jack Crawford was adequate, of course, but no genius. He had occasionally brushed the edges of the truth in the darkness of ignorance but didn't have the imagination to bring the shape of a Becoming to life. Will did. Will held that tantalizing promise of teetering on the edge of being his most beloved protégé, or his most dreadful nemesis. He smiled to himself, considering that possibility. It had made the mediocrity of his recent life worthwhile. More risky, but then who would not play when the stakes were so high.

The risk was what made it interesting. Having his greatest threat lay at his feet in a slumbering daze, trusting and restful... Was a thrill. To have the man so desperate for respite, so afraid of captivity, driven to the fear of it by his own guilt and attachment to society. 

The knock at the door was expected. "Will?"

"He is sleeping Jack," Hannibal said in a quiet voice even as Jack let himself in. "Please do not disturb him."

Jack hesitated, let his eyes scrape the room. "Doctor. Can I talk with you?" At least he had the politeness to lower his voice.

At the point where he ceased to be more interesting alive than dead, he would take him. He had healthy scent to his meat. "Of course you may," he agreed. "If it is quiet."

He gestured to outside, and stepped out first. The dogs were watching, with more alertness than Will was capable of mustering just then. It took work to carefully navigate through them to the door.

"What can I do for you, Jack?" Hannibal asked politely. "I am at your disposal."

"If that was true, Will would be working on the case." He smiled tightly, and tucked his hands into his pockets. "How is he?"

"He is in need of rest," Hannibal said mildly. "He is unwell." He looked at the other man and could see those familiar patterns moving in his mind. How to justify making someone else do the dirty work, to protect his mind and call if for the greater good. Jack was so transparent sometimes.

Like a thin sheet of pastry dough. Now that was an idea...

"Institutionalized unwell? He didn't seem stomach sick, Hannibal. I'm not stupid." Jack had a keen look in his eye as he said it. "If he can't function..."

"I find it interesting that you believe someone has to be institutionalized before they are allowed to take time for themselves," Hannibal commented. "No, he is not."

With some rest, he'd be functioning in another two days. If he didn't overdo it, Hannibal was sure of it. "I'm concerned about him. In your professional opinion, Doctor..."

"He is not my patient. However, as the proverb says, a stitch in time saves nine." Hannibal looked out at the area around him. Interesting. It was a perfect place to be alone.

Almost desolate, in a peaceful way. Will gave himself the gift of silence and peace with that house, and then crowded himself in it with his dogs, barricaded out the rest of the world. Jack seemed to follow the conversation, though, and sighed, running a hand over his head. "I'm running him too hard."

He inclined his head just a little. Yes he was, but it drove him straight to Hannibal. And now he could prove to be the concerned friend. "You asked me to keep an unofficial eye on his state of mind. I need no instruction to do so. Will has become my friend."

Jack inclined his head slightly, and gave half a smile. "You're better at it than I am. I'll, uh. Have him call me when he feels ready. We'll keep working it in the meantime." The acquiescence seemed... too easy, comically so.

"Very well. If it is of help the last thing he said regarding the case was "He's teaching them a lesson." Hannibal studied the man. “This will help your line of inquiry, I have no doubt. I am sure you see the wisdom of a few days working the case without Will rather than a more long term absence."

"I'd rather not go without him at all." Jack half-laughed, but Hannibal was unable to find it in himself to offer the expected social jocularity in response. "If he happens to offer anything else..."

"I will pass it on." Foolish man. Perhaps he would find an illustrated version of fairy tales for him for a gift and bookmark the Goose that laid the golden eggs. "I am sure a few days rest will work marvels."

Then again, the man was willing to squander resources freely, as the government kept handing him new ones to squander. It was a shame. "Of course. Call me if there's anything I can do."

He just inclined his head and waited while Jack left before returning to see the state of his cooking and Will. The noise of human voices had lifted Will from a light doze, to half alert and groggy on the floor, head lifted up, scanning sleepily, a hand petting through dog fur. A good a time to feed the man as any, though Hannibal was sure he'd tumble back to sleep given enough silence. 

"Hmn?"

"Are you awake enough to eat Will?" he said mildly. "If you answer, I shall know you are."

There was a groggy noise, and then Will was struggling slowly to his feet. Hannibal could hear bare feet on dog-hair covered floorboards. "Was that Jack?"

He put everything on to heat, and started heating the oil to cook off the sauté potatoes. "Yes. Predictably."

"I..." Felt guilty, felt compelled to waste himself on those people, their cases and their causes. Will got to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he padded in closer. "I've been hallucinating. At scenes."

Unsurprising. He just nodded in acknowledgement. "What type of hallucinations?" he asked as he put the pre-cooked potato slices in the fat to sizzle. It would be interesting to try it in clarified human fat one day. Goose fat potatoes were considered superior.

It was something for him to mull over as Will hesitated just a foot from his side, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. Touchy, touchy Will Graham, too sensitive, and then there was Jack throwing him right into the cesspool. "Sounds. I, Budish, I thought he'd gotten himself down and was going to release me... But I haven't been sleeping."

Still using the terminology even now. "Your mind has been stressed and seeks to warn you of impending crisis," he said. "So I would say this is consistent with your state at the moment.” He looked at him over the sizzling pan. "You are afraid I will have you committed yes? Or is it that you are afraid I won't?"

That got him a laugh, and there was a keen look in Will's gaze before he dropped his eyes to the pan. "I'm not sure which is the better option, long-term."

"Then perhaps this will give you a measure of comfort. If you hurt someone not deserving of it, I will ensure that you are admitted for psychiatric treatment," Hannibal said. "At the moment the most danger you are, is to yourself."

Another quiet scoffing noise, and Will seemed caught between a smile and a grimace when Hannibal glanced over briefly. "Ah, well. That's normal."

He gave a faint smile at that. "Perhaps a redefinition of normality is required."

"When I was in homicide, I once jumped through a plate glass window. Stopped a missing person case from becoming something in my jurisdiction. We'd been brought in too soon." Will shifted, still moving slowly, and opened a cupboard, presumably to set a table. 

"You have very few...middle gears," Hannibal acknowledged. "It will be cooked shortly."

"Thanks." From a man who was unable to shake hands, it wasn't something Will used as a social lubricant. He kept moving, setting plates out, and retrieving glasses, attempting to be something of a host.

He would get used to his presence. "Jack believes it is acceptable to work you into a mental collapse. It is a very short sighted approach, even ignoring the ethical considerations."

And Will was silent, mulling over a response, perhaps, or other moments, words that might have passed between he and Jack. Or a simple fugue state, for all that the man was snagging a couple of beers from the fridge. "There are lives on the line."

"And if you have a breakdown and you have to be admitted for an indefinite stay, how many lives will you save then?" Hannibal pointed out with calm logic.

"It won't stop me from feeling guilt about my failings." He didn't hear the beer being opened yet, and Will had stopped moving behind him.

Hannibal looked at him, saw the intense inward introspection and smiled again. He smiled more in the presence of Will than he had ever done before. He suspected that the brief moment of genuine rest had sparked his thought processes.

No more than a couple of hours, asleep on the floor in safety, and his brain turned from flailing to grasping again. "It's. I know who it is, I know, it's the physio therapist. I need to..." Abandon the place-settings, apparently, and stumble up the stairs to find his cell phone.

Crawford would be pleased, if nothing else. Hannibal concentrated on calmly putting the food on the plates and then following Will to prevent him joining in the chase. It was instinct to him.

Primed for it, and certainly in no shape for the activities it involved. He could hear Will talking animatedly on the phone, explaining the angel of mercy and angel of revenge aspects of the physiotherapist's actions, the tongue removal, the finger removal, yes, it was all very bland and appropriate for the victims, and dull. He lingered in the doorway while Will paced and gestured and seemed to well anew with energy.

"Your dinner is ready," he said to Will just as a means of announcing his presence. "Jack knows who to get."

Will closed his eyes, posture oddly -- or perhaps not oddly at all, given who Will was in his core -- protective as he completed the conversation. "That's, you can finish this, you have her address. I need to rest."

He stood there waiting just watching Will, stopping him from changing his mind by just watching. He could see the instincts warring in Will, and he was winning. That was a good sign.

He didn't want to have to scuffle with the man and then go through the trouble of retrieving him a *second* time. Jack Crawford wasn't even considerate enough to clean up his own messes. A few last parting words, and Will hung up, looking hollowed out again as he set the phone down beside his bed, and walked towards Hannibal. "That's probably bought me... a week or so." Guilt assuaged.

"Then I suggest you take the time and start with dinner," Hannibal replied. He didn't wait for an answer and turn to go back to the kitchen area where the dogs were looking hopeful.

Despite the beer, which he was almost determined to leave sitting on the table as some kind of ironic decoration, dinner with Will was pleasant, and he was willing to divert conversation from topics of work or his own struggles. It was easier to move on to another topic, he supposed, gentle probing at Hannibal that was risky even from a man who was groggy and slowly growing full.

"You mentioned you used to hunt."

"Indeed. More of a past time of my youth than the present day," he acknowledged. "In Europe, it was a young man's past time. After a while, my pursuits became more cerebral."

It was more exciting, after all, to hunt prey that fought back. "Mmm. It's been a while since I've gone fishing, roughly the same reasons." He could imagine Will, on a small clap trap boat with a well-tended outboard motor, bait, lures, and silence.

"Maybe it is something that you can try this week," he answered and offered, “Perhaps I could cook what you catch. I have not had really fresh fish for some time."

"I promise it won't have three eyes." Will seemed pleased with that suggestion, and just like that, he'd been given another opening, another opportunity. The other man was relaxed enough not to delude himself into believing the earlier events, their conversation, had perhaps been unnecessary. 

"A positive thing,” he said watching even as a little food managed to bring color to Will's cheek. 

He ate too fast, scarfed it down as if one of the dogs might run away with his plate. It seemed as if he wanted to slide an arm around the plate protectively, but he'd stopped himself, one hand politely not involved in the eating, caught in an awkward posture. "You've lived in this part of the country long enough to worry about what's been dumped in the bay."

"You could perhaps try lake fishing. Though I think you enjoy the sea a great deal." He paused a moment. "Do you still have a boat?"

He shook his head a little, eyes down as he speared potatoes with his fork. "Used to, but the winter storage fees were a bit much, and I had to sell her. I've got an aluminum, well, it doesn't leak. It's going to have to be rivers or lakes unless I want to show up on the nightly news with the coast guard. 'FBI agent stupid enough to go a-sea in dingy.' " 

"I understand it is possible to river fish with a handmade spear," Hannibal offered the idea as a gift to the hungry side of Will he could see in his eyes.

Will chuckled, head ducked down and briefly grinning as he chewed carefully. "I'll have to check where that'd fall in my fishing license."

"Perhaps it does not specify the means. You would at least get to use your creations if you stuck to fly fishing." 

"There's a stretch past Wolftrap where I think I've decorated an entire tree-line." Self-effacing, turning inward, and Hannibal didn't believe it in for a moment. It suited Will to seem less than threatening, to seem incapable of properly ending any life. "I've started making them in contrasting colors."

"Then perhaps you should change your bait to mice and go fishing for owls," Hannibal said deliberately building on the whimsical.

"I imagine they taste like gamey angry quail." He liked that smile, the one that didn't look like a grimace, like a mimicry of human emotion. "But if I catch one, I'll let you know."

"I believe there are scientists that have done this, although what they hoped to prove is… debatable." Hannibal reached to clear the plates. "I have made a dessert, although it is simply a form of crepes."

Will sat back, looking sated and appreciative. "I'm sure that the experiment started with the words 'this looks like a good idea'. I didn't know so much could be done with my crappy selection of ingredients, Hannibal. Thank you."

"We will expand your stocks I believe.” He moved to the hob and the frying pan after meticulously stacking the dirty plates out of the way. "I learned to cook to focus my mind away from the difficulties of my past. It is good to have something creative."

He had made a fruit compote to go with the pancakes and had some alcohol to ignite to make them crepes Suzette.

If nothing else, Will had good taste in whiskey. 

"You're extremely even keeled, given what I've gleaned of your childhood." From anyone else, it would have been an insult -- from Will, who was anything but even keeled, and understood innately what that *meant* for a ship, it was highest praise. 

"Thank you." Hannibal said politely as the crepe sizzled and he turned it and then lit it on fire, deftly drizzled the fruit compote, the sugar and handed it to Will. "We all develop coping mechanisms given time. That is what you need."

He could tell there were things Will wanted to say. Secrets of his own, thoughts and compulsions and *words* he wanted to say but wasn't. The silence was heavy, but comfortable, and he watched Hannibal cook in that heavy silence, didn't share his complaints or concerns to someone who was, perhaps, not the best psychiatrist for him but a reliable friend.

At this point, that was who Will needed most of all and what he wanted to cultivate. By the end of this enforced break he was sure he could turn Will Graham to be almost entirely his.

* * *

Hannibal had stayed the first night, under the pretext of enjoying Will's books and that he supposedly had a comfortable armchair. Which was probably less of a lie than the books, but Hannibal was the consummate social liar and Will let him carry on with it. He slept on the floor with his dogs and heavy weighing blankets, and a watcher protecting him from the ghosts in the spaces between the folds if his brains. In the late morning, his visitor departed after coffee, and said he'd come back the next day. Hannibal was not much of a morning person, from what Will could tell, but it suited him to look bruised and not quite up to snuff at least once in a while.

There were leftovers in the fridge for him to slowly pick through, tastier than any of them had been before they were assembled into meals, and instructions to rest. Which Will was poor at.

Still, it was the longest he had slept for a long time, and he did feel better for having eaten a meal that wasn't junk. He took the dogs out, able to see somehow the world around him, snow on the grass, nothing sounding in his ears but the joyous barking of his own pack and he felt a moment of shocking normality...which soon passed. One meal, one sleep could not eradicate what was going on in his mind.

He felt restless and wound up tight, could still feel the fringes of leaking anxious thoughts by the second day, and Hannibal hadn't answered his phone. By the afternoon, Will had called his office, his cell, his home and his answering service. Nothing, nothing at all, and all he could do was imagine worst case scenarios, which were patently crazy.

Completely crazy. Crazy enough to make him call Jack.

"Funny thing. Dr. Lecter was supposed to come back this morning and he's, I can't get a hold of him." Nor did he have his car to go search for himself, no, he was a bit stranded out there in Wolf Trap.

"Maybe he's with clients," Jack said. "But he's pretty definite about time usually."

"Annoyingly punctual," Will agreed. "No, he was going to rearrange today's schedule and come back." Which probably was actively making a liar out of him, but Jack wasn't stupid. Jack had to know he was cracking up. "Can you come get me? I just want to swing by his house and check."

There was a pause as Jack remembered Hannibal had driven him home. "I'll bring your car over and get one of the others to pick me up."

"You live in Baltimore. I'll drop you off." He'd certainly see how far Jack's trust of him would extend, because he knew how crazy it sounded just then.

"Keep trying Hannibal. He is always...punctual. Missing an appointment is concerning," Jack said.

"Eight hours late, Jack. I'll let you know if he shows up." But he didn't think it would happen, and that was how every case that crossed his path happened, wasn't it? Someone didn't come home, someone wasn't home when someone was sure they had been, someone never showed up to a meeting a lecture, a class. And people either shrugged and moved on or they questioned and Will wasn't going to let the human tendency towards denial get him.

His instincts told him something was wrong, and he wanted to follow up on it.  
"We'll be over soon enough."

It made him wonder who 'we' was, or if Jack had just recently elevated himself in conversation to a royal we. It was something for him to chew over as he stood up to put fresh water and food out for the dogs on his way to getting dressed. The roaming around the house in comfortable clothing thing had been stupid and childish, and comfortable for sitting on the floor again with the radio on and his blanket.

He started imagining the worst. How could he not? Psychiatrists had obsessive patients, dangerous patients and Hannibal had been credited in some of their work.

He was a target, a soft target -- looked softer than he was, cultured, well dressed, completely fucking prissy if Will was honest, a patron of the arts... A soft target, and he was already trying to work out what someone might have been thinking when his friend was maybe, only just maybe missing.

He was restless by the time he was dressed, gun on his belt.

A coffee later and he was ready to run out randomly to find Hannibal. And then...finally then Jack turned up.

He hit the door before Jack had been able to turn his engine off, and just gestured to him to swap out. He didn't care how crazy Jack thought he was, he was too worried about what kind of sick fuck had gone after him.

"Beverly is going to pick me up there," he said. "You really think someone has gone after Hannibal.

"Yes. Yes, I do. He wouldn't..." Will grimaced as Jack got out, and slipped into the still warm driver seat, adjusting it while Jack moved to the passenger side. No, no matter what he said it sounded horrible for his mental health. "He was concerned about leaving me alone longer than he needed to move around a few appointments."

"Did he mention anything?" Jack looked at him. "Anyone sniffing around?"

"No. He was unconcerned. And he did mention his last concerning patient to me..." Will threw the car in to reverse, watching his dogs peer out the windows at them as he pulled off. He knew the drive well.

"Huh, True enough. Stretching the confidentiality agreement there but not that I'm arguing," he said. "Don't kill us getting there."

 

"That would be an irony. And given that the man was just a boyfriend of his patient..." And dangerous. It was less risky to report to Will than it was to not report, at least in terms of civil liability. "I wonder if someone targeted him. He's on tattler crime almost as much as I am."

"As a footnote. But still it might be enough to lure a crazy," Jack agreed. "If there is evidence of something I need you on it Will."

"Without question." He gave a noise that he hoped was a laugh, but might have been a more general sound of displeasure. If someone, some crazy had picked Hannibal up through tattler crime, that was Will's fault, that he couldn't work a scene without someone lurking nearby in case he broke.

"Good." Jack was purposefully oblivious to his state of mind. "There could be a simple explanation for this."

"I'm all ears, Jack. Freak power accident took out all four phone numbers, and blew up his iPad?" His service road fed onto a larger road, and soon he'd be on a highway.

"There could have been an accident, an illness, a family emergency...if Hannibal had family," Jack said.

"Orphan," Will offered. Single family-less orphan, and if there was an accident or he was ill, that was just as much reason to go looking for him.

"It is admittedly out of sync with his personality profile.” Jack grimaced a little. "I'll try and get hold of him."

He focused on the driving, let Jack fuss with his phone to prove to himself that Will wasn't completely unhinged. It was almost, almost satisfying when Jack got no more response than he did.

He was finally starting to look concerned. "We'll take a look at his place. If we find anything there, I get the team in immediately."

There'd be jurisdictional hoops to jump, but it soothed Will's nerves a little that he'd be allowed to work, well, whatever there was. He was reluctant to call it a case, because if Hannibal was dead...

If.

There was an unexpected jolt of. Well, fear almost because it seemed like Hannibal had been the only stabilizing factor in his life recently.

What did it say when the most stable thing in his life was his dogs and a guy who he'd originally met in a professional capacity to *pick apart his head* before everything had gotten too weird to even do that effectively. Now they were just friends with a standing weekly meeting, even if Will was mostly sure that Hannibal plied his trade 24/7.

He let the silence settle as he finally turned onto familiar streets. House first, then he'd head to Hannibal's office and his waiting room. If something had happened, where was the best person to snatch him?

What would he have done? Predictable hours meant stalking someone was easy, but Hannibal's appointments were not completely predictable. He was more... spontaneous in his movements. He went out to events, he visited friends, he frequently had guests over for dinner...

The opportunity to catch him *alone* was hard. Someone would have had to follow him, wait until the moment where his active social life waned down to singularity again. 

The sight of Hannibal's car in the driveway wasn't actually relaxing for Will as he pulled in behind it to park.

It meant Hannibal had reached here and not driven away. That meant either he was in the place unresponsive, or had been taken from the place.

Neither option was particularly good. He kept on the move, turning off his car, opening his door slowly, and sliding out of his seat with his gun drawn careful and low. 

Will was accustomed to a tactical movement to the door, watching, looking for blood, for signs of a struggle on the wide brick steps, on the door. No, he could see it, could see Hannibal opening the door to someone ringing the doorbell -- a place to fingerprint -- and then, then the door was closed, but not fully closed. It wasn't flush with the door jamb, and when he nudged it with his shoulder, it swung open freely.

To his credit, Jack immediately unholstered his gun and called for backup in hushed tones. Just in case there was someone still there. He phased Jack out, stepping forward carefully, scanning, listening, waiting and looking for the body. He made his way through the front hallway -- Hannibal's coat was still hanging on the rack, along with his suit jacket -- and then crept silently towards the kitchen.

There was no visible sign of anything much. He glanced around and moved silently through the house. Nothing, except a faint scuff mark on the floor.

He circled again, and again, went upstairs, checked, searched the closets, and that was it. The doorbell and the entryway, and a scuff on the floor, and all of Hannibal's carefully collected and groomed opulence was in place. No signs of a robbery, his cell phone and his iPad were lined up in his kitchen counter an inch apart from each-other as was Hannibal's habit.

Fuck. "Took him right at the door. It was easier that way, simpler -- in and out. Christ."

"How?" Jack said still in a low voice. "Team on the way. We'll go over this place. Maybe there are notes or something."

"I don't, I don't know." he exhaled, inhaled, looked at the door and the scuff. "Chloroform. He struggled, but not for long, and then the, he, lowered him to the ground and moved to transport him."

"You can smell the chloroform," Jack said, trying to stand clear. "We'll look for tire tracks."

Which he and Jack had probably just driven up over. He moved to one side, the stairs -- checked them carefully and then perched on the edge of one step to think while they waited. Carefully organized snatch and grab, which meant he could've still been alive.

You didn't snatch and grab unless your plans were specific. Lengthy. There would have to be a location, a different need to the impulse killing. Kidnappers usually had something more elaborate. That was bad and good, but Will wanted time, time to find him, and all, all he fucking had was a scuff mark on the floor and chloroform. Fuck. "I'm going to look at the, his study. Maybe a patient, maybe something in his notes, I..." Needed gloves. Needed to not be there. Needed an answer immediately. Bodies made it so much easier, but he didn't want a body.

"Go ahead," Jack said. "Try not to touch anything. If it's not an obsessive patient, then we're talking anyone of a number of random crazies that picked up on him from the media."

"Do you have gloves?" He wanted them just in case, and he wanted to keep himself from contaminating any more than he had by just visiting the house in general. 

"Always." It was a matter of habit for Jack at least, who pulled a pair from his shirt pocket.

Will grabbed them, pulled them onto his hands carefully before forging deeper into the house to head for the study. They'd find no other physical clues, unless there was something up under the molding, and he needed to rule out personal threats unrelated to the FBI crazies. Hannibal's notes were meticulous and scrupulously keeping confidentiality with code names, and being written in German. That in itself dissuaded people from first glance information stealing.

And Will didn't know German. French, yes, but German, no, so he lingered for a moment, flipped to a time that he knew matched up with his own appointment, mostly out of curiosity on his code name. Human nature, to want to know, because the book, the room, was going to yield nothing and he knew. Nothing there. It seemed Hannibal really was talking to him as a friend, not client. Difficult. It was immaculate, no marks, no nothing.

A blank page. He didn't recall him writing anything more than the first time or two, and he could have been writing up grocery lists for all Will knew. He stood in the middle of the room looking at the discarded tea-cup that was half full on the side table. Ipad and iPhone set aside. A touch to the side of the cup was ice cold -- hours, maybe the day before. Hannibal drank coffee in the morning, tea the rest of the day, which put it to the previous day if he went with the assumption that Hannibal was punctual.

Had Hannibal been on his way in or out? 

He headed to the kitchen. Hannibal had talked about cooking again. Had he gone into his kitchen or had he gotten into house and been taken the moment he crossed the threshold.

It was important to know which came first, and he looked for the signs of kitchen occupation. There was meat on the counter, and he studied it now, touched it with the back of a gloved hand. Room temperature, completely unhygienic. So, he came in, hung his coat up, hung his jacket up. Set meat out to thaw a little, made a cup of tea, planned to read a couple of book chapters while he waited for the meat to be ready, and then the doorbell.

So he walked to the door. Hannibal would be cautious and wary of strangers. After the attack he was bound to be on edge. He knew Hannibal, almost as much as he knew Jack, as much as he knew any of his targets. He stepped back out into the hallway, scanned for anything in easy reach. Hannibal would have had a weapon, something handy, and... Something from the study. Letter opener, scalpel, one of those would be missing, and he hadn't seen the blade-like letter opener. "Jack, I think our guy cleaned up the scene. We need to luminal the floor."

"You think he attacked Hannibal?" Jack actually sounded concerned. "Not just abducted? If he cleaned up did he bring product with him or use what was here? Might be trace on it."

"Used what was here." Will scanned the floor, crouching carefully without touching. "Hannibal fought back. Bunch left him... Wary. His letter opener is missing from his desk. Our man took it with him."

"Hmm. At the door then, or just inside. Wonder if they broke anything and if he took the debris." Jack looked around carefully. "No clues to the identity though. Feels more like a random than a patient."

"He writes his patient notes in coded German." Will cracked a smile as he scanned the floor, feeling oddly proud of that fact, that extra layer of... Of consideration. "But yes, not a patient. They would have gone to his work. It's easier, and he's alone, and not usually so stacked up that there's anyone around for another hour."

"So, someone who cleans up after themselves, unless we get lucky, we have a problem," Jack said straightening up. "Any letters?"

"No notes." Will stood up from the crouch, hearing cars come up the driveway. "I'll... Be on the top of the steps." He didn't want to hear Jimmy and Beverly and Zeller speculate on the scene that wasn't. But he needed to hear it at the same time.

He needed to think it through, chew it over in his head. Why Hannibal? Not a target of opportunity. No, that didn't feel right. It was planned and executed. Perhaps Hannibal had irritated them by being out all night. Perhaps they had tried to take him at night? No. No, more likely someone following a weak spot in his routine. A watcher. If he was a watcher then there might be something outside.

A waiting point, so without explaining he considered what the view would be like from the front door or the back door.

Jack glanced at him as he moved outside. "Mark out anything you find. We're going over this area with a fine tooth comb."

Outside would be where he was careless. Somewhere. A nest, a hide, a stalking point.

Even just a standing point, so he kept his eyes scanning, up to down, right to left, moving, checking the ground, looking for prints outside at the front first, across the yard. Where had his man started?

It took him a moment, eyes scanning slowly as he stepped forward, past Bev and the team, looking forward. There was a stand of trees, underdeveloped property that helped to make the street more expensive. An un-groomed green zone.

He headed over there careful as he poked into the greenery. He could see evidence of dog prints but that wasn't unusual. He became stealthy and silent, looking for that perfect spot in the undergrowth.

Eyes half closed, crouching, creeping low, oh yes, there it was. Beef jerky wrapper, empty water bottle, matted down leaves. He'd sat and he'd waited.

Will glanced around noticing another flattened patch next to him. He recognised the pattern. A dog, maybe more than one had sat with him. Still. Silent. *Perfectly* trained.

That niggled something in his head. A file he had seen somewhere. But he could come back to that. Perfectly trained. A watch dog, a backup. His...hunting partner, control...The thoughts bubbled too easy and fast in his head.

His good boys, his *best* boys, and he'd sat there and waited with them, gave them small snacks of jerky, and they waited so patiently while he waited for his next one. His good boys, and everyone needed to be like that, the whole world didn't have enough perfectly obedient people in it. Too much chaos, too much wrongness, and this one, this one looked like he'd fit well. He had all the hallmarks of a good dog, sleek and healthy, polite and careful, and useful.

He had been going to kill him, be rid of him but what a waste of a pedigree. It was a crime to waste a good bloodline. Maybe he could be trained. Trained to something. Obedience. Hunting. He would be a good hunting dog. He practically was one of the FBI. One was either their own man, or they were a dog, and clearly those who ran around for the FBI, who'd taken, yes, they'd taken something from him and he was going to take something from them.

Patience. Patience was the key, patience and planning followed by focus and control and a certain boldness. The personality settled on him, embracing him.

_I wait, stalking a prey that becomes more than prey. A target. Surrounded by my pack, with me the Man and them my loyal pets. I walk to the house, dogs trotting silently beside me. The chloroform I pour into a rag just as I knock on the door. I cover it with something. A ...delivery docket. I am dressed as someone preparing to deliver. He answers and is cautious. A wary pup..._

I don't expect the blow that comes, the fast slicing motion, and I strike out, connect palm to jaw hard, snap his neck back. It jars the viciously frightened pup, and as I cover his face with the rag, he swings again and catches me in the hip. There was a struggle, and I get control of the knife as he wavers, puncture the inside of the hand that is clearly his dominant hand. The pup needs to learn his lessons quickly.

Tough but fair. This one will be mine. One of my finest. I will take him, train him, and control him until his thoughts are of only me. I will take him now. I can do this. This is my design.

The spell broke a bit, the recreation so vivid it seemed like recollection and he was disorientated.

Had to stand there for a moment and had carried on with the scene not empty, with Jack standing there watching him, inviting for answers. "He has dogs. He's, we've taken something from him and he's taking Lecter in exchange."

"Dogs…" Jack paused. "Damn, that rings a bell. We had a case involving dogs?"

"Open one," Bev commented from their processing. "We nearly intercepted a dump site. The nearly mummified guy with the collar marks and there was a dog that got shot as it attacked us."

Slowing them down, protecting his master like a good boy.

The best dogs, buying him time. Will shoved his hands into his pockets. "We took his *dog* from him. He's repaying us for it." It was such a tangible feeling of anger at them, but a softer feeling in his stomach that said, yes, he could make Hannibal be something more than he seemed to be. He could make the man a good dog.

"We need the files on that case," Jack said. "Will needs to see them. If I remember, he bugged out from that region when we got close. But we can figure his bolthole."

"It's nearby. He had two of his dogs with him, they were across the street. There's a water bottle and a beef jerky wrapper. There might be DNA." Which helped not at all if they had no record, but it was always good to have the evidence when it was too late to save anyone.

"Good, good.” Jack nodded absently. "I meant where he takes them and does whatever with them. You sure he's not going to murder him?"

"Not to start with. The mummified body was one of them. He was a bad pup." Will shifted, stretching his shoulders, letting it settle over himself like a mantle. He was just going to have to carry it until they found him.

"Then we've got time to find him." And from the way Jack was looking at him, Will knew it wasn't going to be "we" finding anyone.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like the first stages of grief, a lingering sadness stuck deep in his chest, but he knew that Hannibal was still alive. Maybe not in any condition Will wanted to experience living in, but.

He awoke slowly, and to a haze of pain and confinement. There was the initial urge to bolt upright and charge into the situation, but he eased that back easily and laid still, trying to divine his circumstances in a less disorienting manner as his senses came back to him.

Foolishness. He had been preoccupied with thoughts of Will, and what he could make for dinner to encourage him to more rest, and had not attended closely to the subtle cues in the delivery man's demeanor. Perhaps it was true he was getting older. Perhaps the law of nature would consume him after all, if his Becoming failed him.

A younger predator had already nearly killed him, and he knew he was in pain, real pain, as he slowly opened his eyes, testing his limbs. His hands hurt, sharp and dull pain at the same time, enough to tell him they had both been pierced.That was going to hamper him, as much as the collar around his neck would. He shifted a little, curling in on himself so he could explore the collar with aching fingertips. Not one of the standard riff-raff Will went up against, and it was a shame he couldn't marvel at this boy from afar.

That would have been more comfortable. Watching Will deal with him would have been amusing, although possibly still an outcome. Collar and dog cage. He remembered that set of case notes. They had gotten too close and he had bolted. Another one lost to the mists, and Will had so few. He wished the man had stayed lost to the mists, because now he was going to have to kill him. "I know you're awake."

"I was not attempting to conceal it," Hannibal responding focusing on the sound direction.

The man was standing behind his cage, and there was not much room for movement. "Good. Look at you, you've kept yourself up in your age. I have a couple of questions for you -- you need to answer them honestly."

He tilted his head at the man. He valued dog behavior. Hannibal could use that, play with that. He was well versed in the rough science of survival. "If you wish."

He watched the man crack a smile, and knew in that moment that he could very likely manipulate himself free. "Good. Will Graham -- what is he to you?"

It was a question he was not sure he could answer even to himself. But he could deduce a favorable answer. "A possible...protégé," he said carefully. "I have been considering ...specialist training for him." Training was a key thing for him. He remembered the files, remembered the interesting pathology. 

"Psychological training?" It was an interesting line of questioning to launch at a man he'd placed into a small cage, injured and then collared like a dog.

"Amongst other things," he said surprising himself with the truth of that statement. He had considered using Will's attraction and need for physical intimacy that had remained unfulfilled for a very long time as a key stepping stone in his plan.

An easy stepping stone. Low hanging fruit, begging to be plucked. "How do you think he'll be impacted, looking for you?" That was a far cry from the usual no one will find you, forsake all hope clichés.

Ah, he wanted him to be suffering. He wanted to hurt him. "He will be… lost. He is undergoing a mental crisis. He is in a great deal of psychological distress."

Hannibal considered this was true but Will had an exceptional core resilience. He'd crumble and struggle, but he'd *struggle*. He'd fight on and not give in, much to his detriment, shambling forward without self-regard. "Good. You're not going to be the same person you were by the time I'm done with you, buddy."

"I would ask your intention, though the cage and collar imply a certain course of action," Hannibal commented calmly.

The man crouched down, moved closer to the edge of the cage, and apparently had the foresight to not stick a finger through it. "I have rules, and if you're smart, you'll follow them. You look like someone who enjoys having people tell you what to do, so just think of this as a vacation from reality, and we can be really good friends. Like Michael, my last puppy. No speaking unless I tell you to speak. Otherwise it's one bark for yes, two barks for no. Do you think you can bark?"

"I can." He tilted his head. "Hypothetically, why is this manner of communication preferable?"  
As if his past did not contain much worse than this.

He could feel it at the back of his mind, flicker memories of snow and cold metal around his neck, and a chain, and he pushed it gently back into the tightly locked box where it belonged. The man smiled, and fingered a control box carefully. "Because I can release you from the burden of your humanity." He had half a second to process that response before the pain jolted into his neck.

Pain which was... tolerable actually though he folded over it. A dangerous suggestion… dangerous to remove the only thing holding him back.The man did not know what he was toying with. "That… could be dangerous."

The man tsked. "We'll pretend I asked you to continue talking. Why would it be dangerous to strip you down to bare desires?"

"Do you think this level of personal control is usual?" Hannibal said gesturing to himself. "You are a man that values control, appreciates it, *understands* it. Consider it, and what it might be controlling."

He watched the man think, actually processing rather than dismissing him out of hand. The man was expecting fear, and begging, and pleading, but instead he was having a casual conversation. He laughed, and smiled again. "Unfortunately, I don't find that off-putting. It's twice the challenge, and *think* of what it would do to the FBI. To your protégé." And to him. He seemed to think himself invulnerable.

"Is Will your target?" Hannibal asked.

Yes. Yes, he knew the answer before the man inclined his head slightly. "He's ruined two of my pets now. Two. He stepped all over Michael's career, but that was fine, I fixed Michael up after that. But then, my *dog*..." It was hard to follow the man, and harder still when he felt another jolt arc against his neck. "I want to take things from him. I will ruin you, or turn you into a good puppy, and it will be my revenge."

He gave a diffident shrug. "I have warned you of the consequences of these actions," Hannibal said sitting back on his haunches.

He let it settle, let it ease against his back as he fought back against the pain with ease. And he could see the man calculating, moving away to the far side of the room, where it looked like heavier manacles hung. If nothing else, he'd put a little fear into the man.

No doubt he would experience pain, and if he read it correctly, sexual domination. He could not fear what he had already experienced. It was easy to ease himself away from the moment, to contemplate current patient files as the man crouched down and carefully shocked him again and again, prior to attempting to re-cuff him.

He wasn't resisting it. His mind started the long familiar process of disassociation. He didn't feel shame, or humiliation or fear or terror. Just the knowledge of the pain and the physical response of the body.

Appropriate disassociation was an active process, and occasionally, such as being hauled out of the cage by the back of his neck, he re associated long enough to assess his options of escape. For the moment, his captor was on the highest level of alertness, but that would change soon.

* * *

"Will?" It sounded like Alana might have said his name more than once to get his attention. "I thought Jack told you to try and take a break.

He glanced up, and adjusted his glasses, orienting himself away from the pages. "By taking a look at his other case. I declined."

"I think the general principle of having a break to get a bit of fresh perspective is probably better,” she said leaning against the desk. "A coffee break at least. Breakfast."

He squinted for a moment, and reached for his phone to check the time. "Ah. It is breakfast time, then." Not how he'd planned to spend the night, but he'd already spoken with his neighbor, explained to her that he was in town, but working a case and could she check in on his dogs? Because a friend was missing, and he needed to get him back. "I, uh." He rubbed at the back of his neck, and closed the folder. "Coffee might help."

"Come on. You could probably do with a bacon roll or something," she said. "Come on, we'll just go across the road."

Still on campus, but just walking distance. That was acceptable, and Will could get back to his office, his classroom, in a hurry if he had to. He tidied everything away, grabbed his cell phone, and reached for his coat. "I'm missing something obvious."

"Sometimes you have to step back," Alana said leading the way. "Get a bit of fresh air between you and the target."

"Stop panicking in and around at the edges," Will agreed, shrugging into his coat as he started toward the door. "I know enough to know what's happening, and what kind of timeline we're on. I don't usually. I don't, I'm afraid for him."

"So am I." Alana looked at him and there was just the hint around her eyes that they would well up at a moment’s notice. "Believe me, I want to find him too. He was...was my mentor for many years and now he's my friend as well as colleague. "

It felt like the first stages of grief, a lingering sadness stuck deep in his chest, but he knew that Hannibal was still alive. Maybe not in any condition Will wanted to experience living in, but. "He got you through your dissertation, right?" He let her go through the doorway first, squaring off his shoulders and trying to focus firmly in the moment.

"PhD, yes," she said as they headed down the corridor. "He is remarkable at that. I keep telling myself if there is anyone that can survive this, it is him."

"Yeah. It's not much of a comfort, but..." He remembered the look in Hannibal's eyes after Bunch had attacked him in his office. Calm weariness, no fear, nothing like defeat. "This guy hasn't made his mistake yet, and I have no leads, no possible occupation, just. Dogs."

"Then focus on the dogs. You know more about what is involved in keeping multiple dogs than most of us." She said. "What is a good place to keep them? Could they be rescue dogs? Or. Pedigree. Vets registering owners with multiples?"

"He won't have registered them all, and it would have been in his last city. Vet records only occur in injuries. We checked the last dog for micro chipping, but there was nothing. He'll have more dogs than is legal, which I personally know nothing about." He half joked, reaching for it, "So his vet will have been someone on the outskirts of the city, a small family vet who wouldn't flag you with the city."

"You said about dog training. Wouldn't he want to show that off somehow?

"Working dogs." That was an interesting angle, though, that he hadn't thought about. It was time to go record diving when he got back. "He'll go hunting, just to show them off. One of them will be a water dog."

"Follow the logic," Alana said as they left the building. "Hunting dogs need an area to hunt in. To train. They need something to hunt."

Bigger tracts of land. He wouldn't be right in the midst of suburbia, but their area was riddled with small wildernesses. Will closed his eyes as he started down the stairs. The man would have trained dogs, military or police, and given his last location, the nature of his victims, Will wanted to say police. He knew enough about forensics to be dangerous, because he'd trained police working dogs. He might *still*, and that was an option, or recently. She stopped him from walking out into the road casually. "People are going to notice that many dogs aren't they ? unless they are out of the way.”

He squinted out onto the road, and waited with her. "How noticeable are my dogs?"

"When you're up close, pretty noticeable," she replied. "Even though they are well behaved. You've got a lot of ground around your place."

He made a thoughtful noise, turning the pieces in his head. "Most of its mine, but some of it is wilderness. Scenic decay. Former or current dog handler for a law enforcement agency, disgrunt... Oh." Will tilted his head a little. They had a wealth of information in house on that.

"You are still having the coffee and food." She said. "Before you start looking. You'll miss the clues staring at you."

"What's that Warren Zevon song? I'll sleep when I'm dead?" He lifted his eyebrows at her, trying to not feel frayed or, or anything else that was crowding in on him, because he just needed to hang on and keep it together until he got Hannibal back.

"You notice I didn't even suggest sleeping," Alana said as they entered the coffee-shop.

"It's on my mind." For all he knew, he was sleeping just then, which was a surreal fact of his life. "I haven't been. Last good sleep I had, Hannibal sat in my living room like a sentry." Guard dog was the wrong word, too painful a concept just then, because he knew the last victim's injuries too well.

"That was good of him." Alana said. "What do you want to drink?"

"Coffee." No sugar, no milk, just coffee. He squinted at the inside of the cafe when they stepped in, half busy with other agents and people like them. "I'll get a table."

She went to order some and no doubt the breakfast as well and that left him alone with his thoughts. He kept wondering how Hannibal was, and feeling surges of anger and rage that were difficult to control. Just pinging around in his brain, like rubber bouncing balls, anger and the urge to find the man, to tear off on his own and get Hannibal back, to hurt the man for hurting one of his friends, that same roaring anger he'd felt when Stannis had tried to kill Abby.

It became something... alive in him. Something he had to fight to control, but with his friends he didn't want to control it. He wanted that dark vengeful force to visit fury on the bastards. "One coffee, one full breakfast on its way," Alana said putting the coffee down.

"Thanks." He curled his fingers around the coffee, closed his eyes for a moment. "I'd give anything to trade places with him right now."

"Don't wish a trade, wish a rescue," Alana said. "You start sacrificing yourself...it won't necessarily help."

He waved a hand from side to side, before lifting his cup to his mouth. "I'm mostly sure that Hannibal will see the other side of this because at some point. He survived worse. That scares me." Because he didn't think he could contribute anything to help that, to short someone up, because what help was a rotting wall as shelter in a storm?

"He values you Will," Alana said as a response. "And he will need friends. Not colleagues and patients but friends. You are pretty much the only one that falls definitively in that category."

"A friend who has an awful lot in common with a psychiatric patient." He said it wryly, but meant it honestly, didn't want to argue or discuss the point with Alana. It simply... Was. And he was tired, tired of losing time, tired of wrestling with emotions that felt unreal, tired of... Jack coming into the cafe with the Stag loping quiet and surreal behind him, glistening like ravens feathers in the sunlight that Will swore he'd never seen it in. "Is, uh, Jack, or am I...?"

"Sadly you are not hallucinating," Alana said. "Morning Jack."

No, no, he was hallucinating, but the Stag shadowed Jack, and Will raised a hand in greeting, eyes fixed on its dark glossy gaze, just over Jack's shoulder. "Morning. Come for breakfast?"

"Morning. Breakfast and a status update," Jack said helping himself to their table. "Any progress?"

"Some. I have theories to look into on some connections our guy might have." The stag meandered on, walking past the table with rustling steps and no hoof noises.

It was next on his to do list. He glanced back over the scene again, trying to recapture where it had flowed best. Dogs, the dogs went better. The man was a dog owner, had a pack. He wanted, he was going to integrate Hannibal into that pack environment, but he was also using him as a tool against him. It was an act of revenge.

"Then we've got time to find him." And from the way Jack was looking at him, Will knew it wasn't going to be "we" finding anyone.

"Not to start with. The mummified body was one of them. He was a bad pup." Will shifted, stretching his shoulders, letting it settle over himself like a mantle. He was just going to have to carry it until they found him.

"Good, good.” Jack nodded absently. "I meant where he takes them and does whatever with them. You sure he's not going to murder him?"

"It's nearby. He had two of his dogs with him, they were across the street. There's a water bottle and a beef jerky wrapper. There might be DNA." Which helped not at all if they had no record, but it was always good to have the evidence when it was too late to save anyone.

"We need the files on that case," Jack said. "Will needs to see them. If I remember, he bugged out from that region when we got close. But we can figure his bolt hole."

"That's a good start. We'll have this other case closed this morning," Jack replied. He never had to order, they just brought food over for him. That was a level of regular Will never wanted to reach. 

He closed his eyes again, and sipped his coffee. The case he'd told Jack to go fly a kite on because he didn't need to see it, it was solved, it was a distraction, and he would be a distraction. "He's involved in law enforcement. That's why it's been so... clean." Their breakfast was delivered quickly and quietly. 

"Then we'll run some database analysis later," Jack said casually. Like they could just waste time.

"Great, let me know how far you get with that." Now that his couple of days of career case work was over, and he had the free time again. Fuck. Fuck.

"Don't take off anywhere without us," Jack admonished taking a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Unfortunately, that was just what he'd been considering, and was now thinking about twice as hard as he'd been before. He didn't have to see the stag to sense it, clambering behind him like a solid thing. He wanted to reach behind himself and get a handful of his feathery fur, pet and stroke it and sleep, and it wasn't real. Nothing, well, very little was real. "I, then are you coming with me, or...?"

"In a few hours," Jack said checking his watch. "Then the team will be freed up again. We had to wait for the forensic results anyway Will." That was as close to an apology for the delay as he was going to get.

And it was bullshit. It was bullshit and they both knew it. Will closed his eyes, finished his coffee, and let a sensation settle between his shoulder-blades, what awareness he'd gathered of the man. Hannibal... *Hannibal* was not what he was looking for, and that was going to be frustrating. He wouldn't give the man the satisfying snap, there would be no breaking, no high sharp reaction. No heeling.

But there would be a challenge, and that might occupy him. Focus his mind. Confuse him slightly. Not too much he hope because bad dogs got put down, but a dog with potential… you were patient and you worked at it and eventually...the rush then would be all the greater.

"I'll help you look through the records, as Jack is busy," Alana said. " After you've eaten the breakfast."

He opened his eyes again, and wondered when, specifically, breakfast had arrived. It was easier to pick up a fork than it was to voice that question. "Thanks." She'd help him pick through, and he didn't *need* the forensic results, the court needed the forensic results. He needed a name, a location to start and then he would track the man as naturally as breathing. Beverly called it a superpower, but whatever the hell it was, it was more a curse than a blessing. He would feel the call of it when he was close and he wanted to be ready. He just needed to find that thread to pull, that would take him to Hannibal. The sooner the better.

And hopefully if Jack was looking for conversation, Will was all right with the lingering silence.

"I don't want you taking off without back up if you get a lead," Jack admonished after the silence dragged on uncomfortably for a couple of minutes with all of them pretending they were engrossed in their breakfast.

He ate his methodically, chewing and swallowing because food was useful energy that way. "I think it doesn't matter if I have back up or not. He's a hunter."

"And wouldn't that expertise mean back up is necessary?" Jack suggested.

"I mean, if you're concerned for my well-being, if he wants to find me, he can." Will stuck his fork through rubbery scrambled egg, and chewed stoically. It needed... flavor. "And if I get a lead, I'll let you know."

"You do that," Jack said grabbing his coffee. "I'll see you later." No a hint about being worried about him. Same as usual. He was apparently *masterful* at pulling the wool over people's eyes, even as he felt the soft warm breath of the stag against the back of his neck, and ducked his head a little, finishing off breakfast faster. He couldn't understand how people could be missing what was happening to him. The only one really noticing was Hannibal, which made it all the more important to get him back. And that was a selfish thing, but there it was. He needed him.

And it wasn't something he could burden anyone else with, not without getting just shrugs and complete... completely useless responses. He closed his eyes again, finishing off breakfast. "So, ready to go look at the files?"

"As I'll ever be," Alana replied drinking down her coffee rapidly. "Let's get one to take away, then we'll be set. She was still giving him slightly worried looks.

He followed her out of the booth, head ducked down again, and stood carefully, knowing he was being shadowed and trying to act cool and casual about it. At some point, it would wander off, slip away, and he would feel a relief. It was usually gone by then, and seldom shadowed him around the work campus. Getting a coffee refill was easy, and he waited for Alana, glancing around slowly. "I feel like I could almost reach out and touch him."

"Who? The murderer?" she asked as she got their drinks in takeaway cups. "Or Hannibal?"

"At this point, they're in the same location." He wasn't sure which one it was, and it didn't particularly matter if he could get his hands on one or the other.

"That might not be a misleading thought. After all, if he had an extensive amount of dogs that he didn't want others to deal with he couldn't leave them long," Alana said collecting her bag so they could leave.

He fell into step with her, zipping his coat back up once they were outside. It was cold out, and he knew that Hannibal would be naked b now, which would hobble escape if the man was in the middle of nowhere. "First disgruntled former employee anywhere out in my area, and I'm getting in my car," Will half-joked.

"We'll start local and move the radius out little by little," she said as they moved with a little more speed back to the offices.

There were at least *options*, and nothing else for Will to do. He had one goal, one case, and he wasn't going to let Jack derail him.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't look at Hannibal's eyes because there was too much to see there, too much to *have* seen himself, because he wanted to do horrible things to him, some part of him wanted to take Hannibal apart like Rigger had. Worse. There was no fear there at all. As if somehow those desires were all right, acceptable and Hannibal did not care.

The man's frustration was palpable, and Hannibal was just as much at the end of his rope with the situation. He was tired and hungry, his body had been thoroughly abused, and his hands hurt. The worst indignity was that he was being plied with drugs now, as the man had gotten an inkling of his potential and it had scared him. He shouldn't have let that much show, but the man had started to pry at the puncture wounds in the middle of each palm, exacerbating the damage done in a way that hurt more than the amputation. 

"How're you doing there, puppy?"

He made a sleepy hruff of a noise. He had a resistance, or perhaps his mind was used to dealing with altered states, but he still affected by the drugs, but he wanted to appear more in the normal range of reactions.

"There's something broken in you. But I think you know that. Still. Not what I was expecting." He was crouching down again, and there were dogs in the room, circling, sleeping, being dogs. They didn't redefine their attention according to their master, because he wasn't the master.

It was a shame he had perceived that much. Now he was definitely going to have to kill him. And he'd wanted the man to develop his work. He didn't respond to that with anything more than a questioning sound.

"I think it's time to return you to the wild." It was a statement that put his metaphorical hackles up. "Leave you in the middle of your friend's living room, take him instead. What do you think? You can talk."

"To what purpose?" Hannibal said allowing the precision of his words to blur just a little. "If you believe me to be broken, then Will is more so."

Will was held together so tentatively, right on the edge of a break, and possibly over it by then. It would be miserable to miss that moment when the world finally collapsed into madness for him. "You're empty, buddy. There's. Nothing there but teeth." The man gave a shrug of his shoulders. "Never seen anyone like that."

"I am far from empty," Hannibal said and he could feel the Becoming surge forward, but he was not in a position to capitalize upon it....yet. Still, it blew away the lingering effects of the drugs like a gale force wind ripping through fog.

He shifted, let his head lay more carefully on the bare flannel blanket he had in the cage with him. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I made a bad judgment call with you. So we're going to take our show on the road soon, all right?" He moved in, edging around as if Hannibal were a shark, reaching behind him to grab a syringe.

Let him. Let him, there was nothing in the syringe that could stop him. Not for long. He was going to go after Will and he would *kill* the man with his teeth before he did anything that was Hannibal's place to do.

He wasn't going to let the man take Will from him, something that might actually matter. Something that was *his*, and no other's to play with without his permission. He twisted a little, half feigning a fight at the injection into his hip, but now it was a waiting game. The man knew too much and couldn't be allowed to practice his art form on Will. He also wanted Will to "rescue" him, if possible. Will had a deep need to feel value through rescuing others while destroying himself. It would provide the perfect stepping stone for a shift in their relationship dynamic. It would allow him to slip in behind those intriguing shields.

Unexpected opportunity, but he wasn't going to pass on the chance to turn it all to his favor. It was just going to be a matter of timing, of playing it carefully while the man knelt and watched him for signs of a reaction to the drug. He cared for his animals, his pets, in his own fascinating way. Hannibal could feel the sedative effect, let himself move sluggishly, give way just a little, before going down more heavily. As if he was fighting it, pushing it and not awake in there.

"You're one beautiful fucked up creature," the man murmured, sliding a hand carefully between the bars to pet his hair. Again the surge, the ease of turning his head to bite and hold and..that would ruin the plan. What would be the point of this physical abuse if he took him now?

It was best to wait, wait, and ignore it, let it wash over him as if he were asleep. The man eased back, and stood up. There would be no physical abuse to follow, Hannibal knew, because the man was already moving on to his next target. In his head, he hoped to leave Hannibal's body in Will's house, kill him there, implicate Will in his death.Ideally he would want Will to either find his body, or see him die. Crush him. He didn't know Will that well. Will was most likely close to finding him...how close depended on Jack's interference.

There was a high likelihood that the man might not even be able to take action on his plan. Will had discussed it before, about working a slow spiral out from a last known location to re-discover the killer's trail. Like old fashioned man-tracking through the woods. Will had books on it, texts on the science and technique of research and recovery, tracking, fishing, wilderness skills.

Ex-law enforcement, he would be in the system, and it would be like some neon sign to Will. And then he would be running hot and nothing would stop him.

It was just a matter of waiting, and making the most of the next opportunity he was presented. 

Perhaps if Hannibal was lucky he could use it as an opportunity to whittle Will's dog hoarding down by a friendly mutt or two.

* * *

Will needed to be right, he needed to be right, he needed to be right, and Jack thought he was jumping at ghosts and impossibilities but he knew, he *knew* he had their guy and he was going to get Hannibal back, hopefully alive, and he couldn't let the man's sudden urge to give a shit about his failing marriage and his dying wife delay it, not after everything he'd asked Will to put on the line day after day. 

"Either you drive me, or I go alone, but I'm going *right now*."

"I can't let you drive anything," Jack said. "You're sleep deprived and frankly Will, I'm this far from pulling you off of this thing."

He clenched his jaw tightly, eyes skimming Jack's face, the set of his shoulders. "That would be... a first. Here, take my keys. I was taking a sabbatical for a *reason*, Jack. But I *see* this one, no problem, and I know where he is."

"Tell me about it as we drive," Jack said. Typical Jack. All steam ahead if he thought it was a sure thing.

But unwilling to put in the effort to reach the point of being a sure thing. Will held his keys out to Jack, mouth a grim line as he turned to the door. "You saw the file on the last body, Jack. You know how this one goes down."

"I want to know why you are sure you know where we are going. I know the details of the case," he said firmly. He took the keys though and got in the driver's seat.

Unfortunately, the details of the case were in the forefront of his mind, replaying over and over with Hannibal beneath him, neck between his fingers, being made to submit on hands and knees, slowly fucked raw, until infection had so many ways it could get into the skin that it was over with. He could see Hannibal's hair hanging down in his face, back bowed, shoulders tense, the collar around his neck digging into his skin, rocking with the relentless motions. And then, the dogs.

Will heard Jack shouting at him from inside the car, and shook it off, pulling the passenger side open to get in. "He fits. Contracting dog trainer, works at other's facilities, location of last work site matches the last two body dumps and two other missing persons who fit his *type* -- law enforcement or works with law enforcement, healthy male, mid to late 40s, between 5'10 and 6 feet."

"And a shit load of dogs," Jack said. He grimaced slightly. "I'm telling you now, if those dogs are free we might have an issue getting in." 

Which could mean Hannibal's death. He knew that.

"I'll shoot them." No one had taken his gun from him yet, and as much of a completely crazy dog lover as he was, human life versus dog life,well, there wasn't much weighing to do.

"And run out of bullets in time to get Hannibal killed," Jack reproved. They were driving now in the general direction of the address on the database, which was something.

Will had looked at the streets on google maps, studied the areas from above, charted out potential escape routes so he was more prepped. "I brought an extra clip."

"Look Will, what I'm trying to say is that we are going to have to be strategic about this. Don't get caught up in the moment."

"You know, I was actually a cop before I came up here to teach. I know how to enter a room and how to get a suspect off of his premises." And he wasn't going to make a stupid rookie mistake, because even the worst, worst scene he'd ever stumbled onto, Abigail, he'd focused more on her than anyone else, than on Hobbs.

Somehow Hannibal had become a central force in their lives. A point of stability around which they gently revolved, unknowing and unconscious of their spiraling dance...

"...Will? You snapping out of it? Shit."

He blinked, hard, sucking in a startled breath as he glanced around. The area was wilderness, still in the right general area. "Why did you pull over? Are we there yet?"

"You zoned out on me," Jack said. "Completely unresponsive. That's it, after this, you're off active duty until Alana gives an all clear. "

Fuck. *Fuck*. He clenched his jaw, swallowed, and nodded. "Fine. Fine. Just get back to driving." Apparently Jack had thought he was joking when he'd made earlier allusions to not being able to work.

"You really able to focus enough to do this?" Jack asked seriously even as he turned the engine on again.

Yes. Yes, even if he was torn between wanting to lean out the car to throw up and shoving his hand down his pants to jerk off at what was probably the closest thing to porn he'd ever seen inside of his head. And it was a friend being debased. "Yes."

"Stay with it Will," Jack ordered as if that was going to just stop what had been happening to him.

Driving, driving driving. No traffic for a long time. Long stretches of road with no one to be seen.

It was the perfect location, and disorienting for any potential escapee. Lots of room for the dogs to run, and he saw a flicker of house in the distance, sat up straighter, focused. The end state was always a relief, even if he was haunted by it for weeks afterward, part of him knew it was over.

He could feel the twisted up tension inside of him aching to release in...violence, action, something like that. He was ready, he wanted to hunt the hunter he wanted the sharp metallic scent of of blood...He *desired*...

Jack slowed up as they were getting closer, trying to find a way to approach without being seen. He could see a van, the sort dogs could be transported in, animal control, parked up near a side door.

It was easier to park on the street, behind a little clutch of trees that concealed the house as much as it concealed them. They were FBI, and they still had to announce themselves, they still had to knock, but he'd let Jack do that and circle around to the back of the house. "You knock, I'll go around and see what I can see?"

"I'd say do it the other way but I don't want anyone getting off on a technicality," Jack said. "We should have back up but… come on. And try not to shoot immediately at anything that moves."

"That would be a new one even for me." He was more likely to not fire than he was to fire, and he'd never been a nervous shooter in his life. Still, he popped the door open slowly, quietly, and clung to the tree line as Jack approached the front door.

He slipped down the side, out of sight. The van was close to his destination and he didn't want a nasty surprise popping out behind him. He checked the doors, not hearing a dog bark and was surprised to pop it open.

Unlocked, prepped for motion, prepped for loading. The man had a mobile kill kit and he was ready to head out again. He pulled slowly at the door, and peered in through the crack into the darkness. There was dog smell and, and, blood in the air, blood and musk, and breathing.

Breathing. Breathing. 

Will opened the door further to let light spill in, and there was the long lean lines of a naked body, mussed dark hair. Marks...cuts, bruises, blood, a heady mix. He carefully crawled into the back, reached his fingers out to touch, one hand reaching for his gun. "Hello?"

There was a exhale of sound and the clink of metal on metal. He could see then, cuffs at ankles, at hands, metal gleaming and then a shift and a blinking dark eye that he recognized looking back at him.

He shoved his gun back into the holster, and fumbled for his handcuff keys, climbing the rest of the way into the truck because it was something like a defensible position and he was giving Jack no cover at all, but there was a sudden burning urge to get him un-cuffed, to make sure he wasn't mortally injured because their man only took people, pets out when it was the end, he stuck with them until it was a lost cause or a dried up corpse. "Okay, c'mon, Hannibal, hold still, I'll just be a second..."

Probably police issue cuffs, he could open them without problem. "William?" It was faint and raspy but definitely Hannibal. The lilt was unmistakeable.

His eyes were still adjusting to the dim darkness, but he felt his way to the cuff lock, felt wetness against his skin, slime, blood, kept his fingers moving to insert the key into the hold and release one. "I'm going to uncuff your ankles." His fingers were wet, when he reached for his radio to call back to dispatch, for backup and confirmation of a live victim.

"Drugs..." It was a half mumble. "Injected..." He did seem oddly unresisting and pliable and he didn't need to allow his thoughts along those lines.

It was best not to, scooting past him on his hands and knees, reaching out only carefully until his fingers brushed an ankle, touched metal. Will moved with the same deliberate care he had with Hannibal's wrists, and the man was in no state to be left alone, even if Jack needed backup. Will wasn't the best person to do it just then, and he hadn't *heard* anything. For all he knew, Jack had seen his detour and was hunched down waiting for him to come out. "Okay. We'll get you to the car..." Away, out of the van was all he could think of.

Hannibal was freed and trying to move. "You need to, stop him," he said grabbing for Wills shirt. "Stop him now… he *wants* you. "

It startled him, and he brought his own hands up to cover Hannibal's, to disentangle them from his shirt. There was still too much of a risk that he and Jack could be disabled and then the man could still do away with his friend. "Backup is on its way. We need to get you to the road, a, a *blanket*, out of here. You're going to be okay. Where are you injured?" Other than, obviously, his *hands*, bloody shaking weak-feeling, and he could see in his mind's eye, the debilitating knifing to remove dexterity that a dog would also lack.

"Please...wanted to exchange us," Hannibal said trying to move. There was blood on Will's shirt. Blood. He was cooperating though, moving the best he could and the more of him he saw in the light the more it struck home.

The reality on a living person was worse than the reality on a desiccated body, in his mind's eye, and he tightened the arm that he was awkwardly hauling Hannibal out with, because he needed one hand free for his gun. Nothing he was saying was making sense just then, because Hannibal fit the man's profile of victims perfectly and, and... "Okay, okay. Can you..." They reached the end of the truck, and Will put his feet on the ground, knowing he was exposed even as he used the door as a shield and shifted to put himself between Hannibal and the house. It was a struggle, even as compliant as Hannibal was, to keep calm, to keep his breathing under control, to haul at him and not catalogue every mark, every injury for what it truly was and had been in a moment of time. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

"Keep up with me, then I'll make sure he *never* can do anything again."

Hannibal was groggy and lolling over him but they were moving forward and out on the edge of van.

"I'm fine," Hannibal said his voice sounding stronger, but there was something eerie about his eyes. Anger and calm, flickering at the edges and then gone again, shifting, and Will was going to say it was the drugs as he started to walk the other man back along the tree-line, looking over his shoulder with every nervous fucking step because where the hell was Jack?

He heard a gunshot then, then another and Hannibal stumbled. "Go. Go help him..stop this."

It was a compelling tone, one that reached inside of him and gave him permission to do what needed to be done. He still stopped, made sure Hannibal was at least semi hidden -- dirt and leaves and dry grass came off, gunshot wounds, not so much -- before turning to bolt towards the source of the sound. Will knew he as losing it, when he had to suppress an urge to shout for Jack, because that was a great way to give away his position, and the front door was open.

He broke into the house, into naturally lit evening light, and darkness, and tried to orient himself.

Another shot. And that meant in theory Jack was alive. No, the man would be hunting. Hunting him. There were the dogs. This was his home ground and he would know the vantage points.

Time to *be* the distractor, then. "*Christian*, this ends now. Put the gun down and surrender quietly."

No response, but then why would the hunter give away his position? No, he would be moving and Will could hear growling noises. Dogs, Dogs hunting as a pack. He needed to feel their positions, work out where he would be.

Step closer into the house, find Jack, get Jack out. He started logically, checking the first floor, knowing there was a basement to face next. He started with the living-room, letting his eyes scan and scrape, looking for blood. There off to the right he could hear something. Someone stalking, moving and trying to be silent. That had to be Jack. Their man would not make that error.

Will moved, shifted uncaringly past Jack, slow steps. Will knew he was not an exceptional hunter. A tracker, sure, but not a true huntsman. Fishing was different, slower, eddies and currents in the water moving him and the fish, while there were no such pulls in the air. He needed scent more. The scent of his thoughts, his behaviours, his feelings. Hunting meant he would feel more in control but he now knew he was being flanked by another predator. What would he do? Find another vantage point, or try to flee?

He'd fled before -- their man wasn't a stand your ground type, he'd break for it, and now he'd targeted Will's friends. He couldn't be allowed to escape, which steeled Will while he stepped forward, towards the stairs, listening and knowing that entering the doorway would highlight him for targeting. "You're not leaving this house alive."

He heard the skitter of a dog approaching on linoleum to the left. A growl from the shadows, as much of a warning as he could get. A distraction then, but no less deadly for all that.

Will made a tcccht noise, hoping it would haul the dog up sharply. "I will shoot your dog. Your pets, you, mean nothing to me, and I know you're down there." And he was reluctant to give the guy the opportunity for a headshot. "Reston SWAT is on it's way. You know they'll take your life from you, cop killer."

The dog leapt out from the shadows straight at him. And Rigger didn't want to die. He didn't want to die and he hadn't meant to kill his pets. He still had one pet. One in the van. If he couldn't take these, he would run for the van, take him and run. Bargaining chip if they caught him. Will startled, and then steadied himself, holding his hands out, gun still in one, crouching carefully. "Hey, buddy. Easy, easy, I'm not here to hurt you."

The dog was a bit taken aback by this approach expecting aggression and skidded to a halt in front of him growling. Trained as a law enforcement dog, he probably wouldn't escalate unless commanded which meant the man would have to reveal himself.

"Easy, boy, easy. I've got a dog like you, Rudy. I wish I had a snack for you, buddy." He waited holding his position, and listened over the sound of his own voice.

The dog stood watching him, clearly ill at ease and he finally heard a voice. "Attack!" and the dog leapt forward with blind obedience.

He pulled the trigger, shot twice because he didn't want it to suffer, because heart and head was something he could do to a dog but never got right with a human, and then he spun to the sound of voice and charged, a clean pivot at a man who'd actually been behind him.

Their man had made for the door. He was trying to run, trying for the van, trying for Hannibal. Will surged forward, the front door slamming closed against his hip, eyes focused on a tall lean man who was fully dressed and aimed at his center mass as he pulled the trigger in three quick bursts.

Christian Rigger was sprawled on his back, half on his porch and half on the threshold, leaking dark dark serum, and lighter red blood. There was pink froth at his lips, and Will didn't see any point in kneeling to check for a pulse. "Jack?"

"Fucking dogs," Jack said coming out clutching his arm, that had been the obvious recipient of a bite. "You find Hannibal? "

"I hid him in the tree line. If he, I didn't want to see our guy here hop in the van and drive off with him." Will stood up tall, breathing in slowly as pain arced through him from where he'd connected to the door. "Let's move up to the road."

"You call back up?" Jack said as they stepped forward. "What state is he in?" 

It was cold to have been left out in the woods, practically naked. "I think a thermal blanket is warranted. His hands..." Will limped off the stairs, feeling spots behind his eyes as he started across the line. "I have one in the back of the wagon. He's coherent."

Jack glanced at him. "What the hell Will... you've been shot, you fucking idiot. Tell me the paramedics are coming too."

Shot? He kept walking, and shook his head, eyes scanning the tree line. Hannibal had remained in place, head ducked down and dirty but still visible. "Called them both in. I figure if we're on the road, they'll see us sooner."

"Where is he? Ah.. I'll go get the wagon. You stay with Hannibal. We need to get into warmth," Jack said and it was like he was talking underwater.

It was bizarre, but he kept moving towards Hannibal, picking his way through the snow as it got less pristine on the way there. "Dr. Lecter? It's safe now."

He looked up. "He is dead?" He looked like being conscious was an ordeal.

Will crouched down awkwardly, and felt the pain slide through him hard enough that he wanted to vomit. That was okay, Jack was going to back the car up, and he was well dressed enough that he could lay down for a little snow nap. Christ. "With prejudice. Here, let me help you up."

"I cannot...stand well," he said weakly. "And you are hurt. Pressure...on the wound." He was reaching to press hands on it.

Disorienting as he knelt down, back bent for a moment as he tried to shrug out of his jacket, struggling to get his arms out of the sleeves before he offered it over. "It's okay. The cold's invigorating." He could hear the engine start up. With the thermal blanket, and them in the back, flat part with the seats folded down, it wouldn't be a cold wait.

The wagon pulled up and Jack got out. "Let's get him and you in the back... Hannibal you know where you are?"

Hannibal looked at Jack as if he was mad. "No. Of course not." Hannibal's hand felt cold against him and it was worrying that he wasn't shivering. That did not bode well for hypothermia.

"How about we let the GPS worry about that, Jack?" He shifted, and Jack opened the back door. It took work and a feeling of something in his leg close to snapping to get Hannibal to his feet and up into the flat back part of the wagon. He'd had the seats down for the dogs the week earlier, and it was still like that, soft blankets laid out for them for a drive to the dog park that hadn't materialized because he'd had a fucking breakdown at work instead. "Okay, okay, are you bleeding from anywhere? Jack, can you crank the heat up?"

"Heats on, lets get him up and in.." Jack said popping the front door. Hannibal was barely upright, leaning heavily in him and they pretty much had to manhandle him into the vehicle.

Will crawled in after, out of necessity and because he hurt, felt like it might hurt less if he laid down. There was a funny meandering trail of blood drops that indicated no great speed of movement staining the ruined snow they had trudged through, and for half a second he was concerned that Rigger was on the loose. Then Jack shut the back door, sealed the warmth in.

That concern vanished as he thawed out in the car; and with that came more of the pain. He saw Hannibal start to shiver uncontrollably and tried to keep him covered over with the thermals.

"They're probably another ten minutes out." It wasn't much of a consolation, and Jack was in the driver's seat, probably contemplating leaving a crime scene for a hospital that Will knew, in even light traffic, was further away than the ambulances. He could feel his pulses ebb and flow, feel the wetness against the small of his back as blood pooled. "Stay with me, Hannibal. How're you doing?"

"Cold." Hannibal said. "You need..pressure bandage. Will. You must. Do not die...because you just need a bandage."

He laughed, closing his eyes for a minute before sliding fingers down to crush his fingers tightly against the injury. Felt like bone, well, he didn't need his childbearing hips, anyway. "Thought the door had hit me. Used to getting *stabbed* back in New Orleans." Guns just had too high a cost of ownership to waste on nosy detectives. Ah,but Virginia, land of a gun in ever ice chest.

"Is there anyone here not bleeding?" Jack commented as he shut the driver side door. "Will, you still with us there?"

"Hmn, yeah. How's the dog bite?" It kept him alert, checking how they were. Hannibal was missing a finger, and the count was what it should have been, which was funny but not actually funny. He used his free hand to half throw a micro fleece blanket over Hannibal's feet and legs.

"Fucking painful. God knows how many dogs are still roaming around in there. " 

"There were eight in total," Hannibal murmured.

Hannibal would know. Hannibal would have counted and observed to keep himself focused, and he would have been mounted and mated by every male in the pack as Rigger tried to beat him down.

"There's now seven."

"I shot two," Jack said. "Down to five."Jack kept looking at them both, concerned. He didn't seem to know how to approach Hannibal and settled on generalities. "Hannibal, are you badly injured?"

Hannibal looked at Will and then closed his eyes still shivering. "Cumulative injuries..." he managed through chattering teeth.

"When the paramedics get here, I can explain. If you don't want to, to..." Talk about it, have to explain the natures of his injuries. The hands, and digestive system would have the worst of it, and the mind. "You can pretend to be asleep." Spare himself a little public indignity.

"It should be obvious," Hannibal murmured. There was a certain..oblivious to indignity in the way he held himself.

Above it. Separate of it, and he wondered if Hannibal was doing that on purpose. He watched the man's eyelids flutter, focused on his own breathing, the slow seep of heat against his fingers that he wished he could share. Hannibal's lips were shaking, pressed tight, and Will lifted his hand to touch Hannibal's face before he'd thought anything through. "If it's any consolation, it's not."

"Then perhaps I act better than I believe," Hannibal murmured. "I am very thirsty." Of course he was, he should know restricting food and drink was a fundamental tool.

Will swallowed, and tilted his head up to look at Jack staring at him. He pulled his hand back, trailing the edge of Hannibal's mouth before putting his fingers firmly against his own wound again. It was getting a little hard to breath, and he didn't need Jack staring at him. "Under the passenger seat." For the dogs, and sometimes, the radiator. It was just that kind of car.

"I'll get it," Jack said . "Your color isn't looking good Will, keep talking."

He was rustling for it even as dimly Will was sure he could hear sirens. Good they were nearly there.

"Okay. You still all right, Hannibal?" He wanted to keep the other man talking, semi alert, at least until the ambulance arrived and swallowed them whole, packaged them up for inspection. He watched the man's eyelashes flutter, watched him lick red from his bottom lip, blood smeared cheek moving. Where had that, where... there was too much blood to make sense.

"Mm. The pain is coming back," Hannibal said a little cryptically as he closed his eyes and the shivering began to subside a little. Now he had a strange flush to his face and the glimpse of his eyes had them fever bright.

Cold gave way to pain, that made sense, and he was likely harboring an infection or twelve. Will lingered, let his eyes scan and not linger too long on any part of his face. "It'll be all right. This, it's not going to happen to you again."

Hannibal's dark eyes opened and...caught him. They just sucked him in somehow so he could barely see anything except those dilated wide eyes reflecting his own face in their surface. He didn't *make* eye contact often, on purpose. He didn't look at Hannibal's eyes because there was too much to see there, too much to *have* seen himself, because he wanted to do horrible things to him, some part of him wanted to take Hannibal apart like Rigger had. Worse. 

There was no fear there at all. As if somehow those desires were all right, acceptable and Hannibal did not care. It was openness, and Will shut his eyes first, crushed them closed tightly because he was hallucinating again, he was, he was projecting, he was, he was... "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Shhh Will," Hannibal nearly whispered. "Let the images flow through you and they will lose their power over you, Breathe and let it go past, water through a hollow reed."

Maybe he was hallucinating that response, it seemed altogether too...coherent for a man that had suffered the level of abuse that Hannibal had.

It was possible that he could continue to hallucinate decent therapy in the man's absence. Because there was little chance that he would focus on any of that in the aftermath. He kept his eyes closed and focused on breathing, because the pain was finally starting to leave him a little fuzzy, combined with the images of what Rigger had done to Hannibal. If even a third of what Will empathizing with there was little chance Hannibal would want to set foot in his dog ridden house ever again.

"Mr Graham? He's still not responding," the voice drifted in and out. 

"Will, bring it back. We want to get you in the ambulance," Jack's voice drifted in as well.

Will chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, unsure in answering before he opened his eyes and saw Jack and a stranger leaning into the back of his car. The door was open, and his legs felt cold, enough to get him to shift and take his hand off of the injury site. "Okay. I'm, okay. Dr. Lecter alright? Scene's secure?"

"Dr Lecter is being stabilised. You were shot?" It was stating the obvious.

"Hip. Entered and exited." He could tell that from the feeling at his back, side, but really, he'd be fine. They got gunshot wounds all the time.

"Okay... Any other injuries you can recall?" He didn't want to open his eyes. It was going to be easier just to..stay shut away from reality.

"No." He shifted only reluctantly, moving towards the cold, and every motion was pain. Will decided he preferred being stabbed to being shot.

"We're going to lift you okay?" the paramedic said. "Then you can take it easy."

"Right." He braced himself for the pain, and it was as steeling as he'd expected from when he'd helped Hannibal to his feet out of the tree line. There was the sound of metal, clicking, wheels, a gurney.

The count of three and lift nearly blinded him with pain. He missed most of the transfer after that. Missed Jack ranting away in the background. It was funny to hear Jack's voice going on and on, the ups and the deep deep angry commanding lows of his voice, right up until the gurney jolted into the back of the ambulance. Then it was quiet engine sounds and machine noises, quiet beeps and an anxious sounding paramedic.

There was fumbling around his arm and he couldn't just..do anything to resist as the drip needle slid into his vein. It was easier then to just let it all slide away.


	5. Chapter 5

Hospitals were a bland white drifting hell, because he had no control over when he'd go to sleep, or how, and it wasn't particularly restful just then. Even pain medications couldn't mute down panicked dreams, nightmares, but they also kept him from remembering or recalling anything. Except that his hip hurt, and he was probably in a facility where he could get himself checked in, inpatient.

If he wanted to.

He wanted to know who was looking after his dogs, he wanted to go home to that one safe place. He wanted to see if Hannibal was okay...and he didn't want to see if he was broken, because that would be something terrible to him.

He wanted that last thing he'd heard, as absurd as it was, to be true. That Hannibal had been *that* calm, oddly, under it all. Will wasn't any good at putting people back together, at helping them through it, he just. Let other people, people who were qualified, do it. And, it was time to see if he could get out of there. Start checking things off the checklist.

He did better out of hospitals. He was a godawful patient, never in his bed when they wanted him, too restless unless unconscious, having strange reactions to drugs, causing problems.

"Will? I have excellent timing. You look pretty awake today," Jack said as he came in, arm in a sling.

"How long've I been not awake?" He let confusion color his voice, rubbing at his eyes. He was hungry and sore all over, and there was a bleeding pain from his hip.

"Well, you've loosely been awake a few times. Generally it involved a lot of swearing and falling out of bed when your leg gave out," Jack said with good humor. "I think you were reacting to the drugs."

"I'm sure I can do that right now." He shifted, tried to sit up as he watched Jack. "Without blaming the drugs. Is there any news?"

"Successful conclusion to two cases in one day? That works as news for me." Jack was being evasive and that was not good news.

He looked at Jack, watched his face, the set of his shoulders and his mouth. "How is Dr. Lecter?"

"Hannibal is..." Jack looked a little uncomfortable. "Physically he is recovering very well.”

"And...?" There had to be an and, and Will wanted, needed to hear it because he had to know. He had fears and half thoughts, and giving voice to any of them himself was too much to consider.

"And the hospital psychiatrists don't know what to make of him," Jack said. "I've spoken to him. He’s very lucid. Very...contained. It's creepy as hell."

The edge of Will's mouth pulled up. As far as answers, that was almost a relief. "I want to say that feels right?" Will offered it in half a laugh, relaxing a little. Not broken, didn't get through to him. Didn't get to whatever it was at Hannibal's core that he protected so hard, all the time.

"They are sure that he is deeply repressing trauma. All Hannibal says is that he will of course discuss it with his own therapist when he leaves."

Jack shrugged. "You're taking a vacation as well. Fortunately you've got a good reason." He gestured to Will's leg.

Which was better than his head. "That's what I was trying to do before this happened." And he felt frayed, stretched thin, and just looking, studying Jack, yielded him a host of worries about his team, his ability to continue working cases at the speed they'd been doing, because crazies didn't stop coming out of the woodwork just because Will was out of commission, and Hannibal, he'd never seen anything like that and it scared the shit out of him.

"I've issued orders. Unless we have something of national or international importance pop up and we hit a brick wall, you're off limits." Jack looked at him. "You worried me back there."

"Why?" He was careful in asking that, wondering what had given him away. Jack never seemed to notice the things that seemed so burningly obvious from the inside looking out.

"Losing time, fading out on me. I've seen you do it in a controlled fashion, but...you weren't in control Will," Jack said seriously. "It's a short jump from there to… it taking over."

Nothing too unexpected, then. "I was... having a... a crisis. Its, everything is still too much, I'm, it's not just killers right now, it's everything, I can't *do* this, I need to get away for a while." He glanced down at his hands. There was no blood on them, because the hospital staff had done a good job cleaning him up, but he could see there was, still, layers and layers of it and then nothing again. Maybe they weren't even his hands. 

"Then it's a good thing you are having that time off," Jack said. "Just don't make me have to come find you and make it more… secure time off."

As if that helped.

"Not exactly comforting, Jack." He rubbed at the back of his neck, still looking at the sheets. "Anything else, before I see about busting out of here?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you if you could… I don't know. Keep an eye on Hannibal. Try as they might they can't seem to find a reason to keep him in and they are sure he is on his way to some sort of spectacular meltdown. You are pretty much the only one he wants to see."

That was oddly comforting, that trust went both ways, and Will nodded. "I won’t have a problem with that." Logically, he was on his way to a spectacular meltdown, but Hannibal might've been on his way to that for years, *decades*, he might actively be in its throws at all times. He'd left being an ER surgeon for more than just one dead patient whose life he'd wanted to save. That had just been the straw that had broken the proverbial camel's back. "People... can function with all sorts of mental broken bones, Jack. Function just fine. Not everyone has a text book reaction."

"Obviously. Otherwise you wouldn't be working for me," Jack said. "Look, you probably know the sort of thing that happened to him better than the doctors. That's not the sort of thing you shrug off. It can't be. "

"I'm not the psychiatrist," Will pointed out, because e world would've been in Miserable shape if he was. "But have you ever seen Hannibal angry. Or off guard?"

"Only slightly perturbed even when he was attacked," Jack admitted. He frowned a little. "More offended than anything I think."

"People who spent their childhood in soviet orphanages have a host of emotional and attachment disorders. I was afraid he was *going* to be affected by it, Jack." Will shrugged his shoulders. "But I'll keep an eye on him, for what's good that'll do."

"Mm." Jack looked around. "Before you spring yourself, how far against medical advice is it?"

"Not sure? Can you flag a doctor down for me?" Or he could stall and visit another patient while he got them to poke through his paperwork.

"I'll give it a go," he said. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

Will sat back, rubbing at his eyes. Jack's mind went in funny loops sometimes, interesting loops, and he had a sense of what was right and wrong that made Will respect him. At least, most of the time. He supposed that Jack had an antenna for the weird that worked. He had too, really, otherwise how could he do his job?

"Found one," Jack said coming back in. "Rank hath its privileges."

"Been a long time since someone flash an FBI badge at me for a consult," the doctor replied. "I'm Dr Harbinson...I understand you are contemplating leaving?"

Will knew the song and dance well enough to mitigate the circumstances. "I'm not really going far. I'm planning on seeing Dr. Lecter, and staying until he's released. After that, I won't be staying on my own. And I know how to clean an injury site."

"You'll be required to come in to have it checked and redressed as well. Let's take a look at your stats."

"It's not his first time at the rodeo," Jack said. "I can vouch for that."

Dr Harbinson just gave him a look.

It was oddly like a parent apologizing for their underage son's inability to hold his liquor.  
"Unfortunately not." Ad he wasn't feeling any more stable, but it was oddly calm in the hospital. No pressing case, Jack wasn't pushing for anything.

That had to be a minor miracle. "Well aside from dehydration, your vitals have been stabilized. We replaced the blood you lost, that was the most critical thing. No sign of post op infection."

"No big damage?" That was what he hoped for, the best outcome to get. Everything was still attached, which was more than he could say for Hannibal.

"It didn't chip the bone. You would be in a much worse state if the bullet had smashed the hip bone," the doctors said. "As it is, it was the blood loss that caused the most problems. Just as well you remember to put pressure on the wound. Well, looking at it, I will agree to you leaving at the same time as Dr Lecter, especially as he probably won't be released today."

"No? When's he going to be released?" It was casual conversation, and he shifted to see if he could swing his legs out of the bed and at least stand up.

"I am not actually his doctor," Dr Harbinson said. "However, as we have an FBI honor guard for you both in the corridor, he is in the room next door. Let's see how you get on with the crutches."  
"Okay." He'd barely been awake for twenty minutes, if that, but he was game for it, because he was still concerned about Hannibal. He swung his legs carefully to the edge. "Has anyone told Abigail?"

"I think Dr Bloom has taken care of that," Jack said from where he was observing, even as Dr Harbinson handed him the crutches. 

"See how steady you are but don't try too much," he instructed.

"I just have to get next door." They were aluminum, and shitty, and he struggled for a moment to adjust the crutches. Mundane, easy things, distracting to the point where he didn't hear the soft stomps of the Stag that was lurking at the edge of the door. Oh.

He'd hope that some sleep, some rest would send the beast away. He studiously ignored it, concentrating and surprised at how sore his leg was. That was flesh and muscle that had been blown away, not just sliced. Will lowered his head, eyes closed tight as he got his footing carefully and took one step, two steps, toward the door and the stag, trying to keep his breathing calm.

The stag looked at him then walked slowly down the corridor, solid, *real* to him.  
"Let me get the door," Jack said. "Didn't think you'd be able to do this."

"What, get out of bed?" He hung back, watching, listening to soft ruffling fur retreat from him down the fluorescent lit hallway. His mind felt more injured than his side.

"Get more than a meter without falling on your ass," Jack replied. "You've only just woken up."

"And that's the most sleep I've had in days." He stopped, nudged his glasses higher onto his nose and took another step or two forward. "No more cases for a while, all right?" In the corridor, the Stag kept walking, turning a corner, and he was almost compelled to follow it.

"We're entitled to downtime," Jack replied. "Can you make it next door? Once you do, I'll leave you to it."

"It should be possible," the doctor concurred.

"Thanks." For the vote of confidence. There was a guard outside, and unfamiliar trainee agent who was probably wide eyed and confused, or he'd made his own assumptions and moved on. Will carefully hobbled to the door to the room next door, and waited for someone else to nudge it open.

Jack did the honors, pacing him like the goddam stag as he made slow and steady progress .It wasn't that far but it took him nearly five minutes to get from his room into Hannibal's room.  
And all he could see was Hannibal half sitting up, his eyes closed and an iPod in on ear.

Good. Good. He hobbled into the door, quietly, hoping the music was louder than that. It made him wonder who'd brought it in -- Alana, maybe, or Abigail. He'd been so focused on the hunt, on getting Hannibal back, that he hadn't even thought to tell her what was going on. Another few short hobbling steps, and he turned a little to nudge the door closed. Jack gave him a thumbs up and didn't cross the threshold. It was strangely like Hannibal had managed to place a barrier there that only admitted the chosen few.

He should have known that Hannibal would have heard him, as an eye cracked open as if to check who it was.

He leaned carefully, weight mostly on one leg as he lifted a hand in quiet greeting, and made his way towards an empty chair that looked like it was being used to hold books.

Of course Hannibal would listen through to the end of a piece before acknowledging anyone properly. It wasn't personal, just. Him, being him.

At the end of the piece, Hannibal very carefully turned off the iPod and pulled out the ear bud. "It is not a substitute for live music, but Dr Bloom at least has the taste to give me superb recordings. How are you Will?"

"Mobile." He shifted carefully, trying to get comfortable as his hip radiated pain at him. His eyes dropped to Hannibal's hands, which were still wrapped tightly across the palm, the missing middle finger. "Just woke up. Everyone's concerned about you."

"There is nothing to be concerned about," Hannibal replied. "I have received treatment and I am recovering well enough. I am glad to see you actually rested, though I am sure you have much more sleep debt to purge.

How did he bring it up? Or did he even bring it up? Will watched him, studied the injuries to his hands from what he could see, compare it to memory, compare it to his understanding of what had actually happened, the careful spearing of both palms, the prying at it to keep him disabled, to make it harder to escape. "They're looking for a reason to commit you here."

"Mm, I know." Hannibal gave a faint smile. "Somehow they do not believe my assurances that in the battleground of the mind, I am a highly trained specialist. It is my...vocation. Similar to a soldier entering a warzone...not every soldier develops PTSD."

But it was more than that. It was more than, and Will knew it was, felt it deep in his stomach. "It's more like... Your seams are showing, and it makes people uncomfortable." And he wanted to help Hannibal hide them. Metaphorically.

"My seams?" Hannibal asked looking at him. "Please explain."

"Psychotherapy by a guy who's having daylight hallucinations," Will caveated, smiling at him as much as he could manage. "It's, you're, this is all a front, Dr. Lecter. And it's *showing* that this is all a front right now, because it's *too* schooled and perfect, which makes them uncomfortable. Your seams are showing."

"I cannot act out of control Will. It is against my… nature." Hannibal looked at him. "This is how I maintain control."

"I know." And he did, he *saw* it, felt it deeply, and hoped that Hannibal understood that. "When did they say you're getting released?"

"Physically I am recovering," he said. "The damage is not permanent. I believe it is their concerns that hold me here." He sighed a little. "Perhaps a few days at the most before I convince them."

He slouched carefully, watching the way the sigh seemed to deflate Hannibal a little with his disappointment. "You could fake your way out sooner."

Again the smile and low rumble of a chuckle. "Yes, I could. For what purpose? I am still...sore. I prefer not prescribing my own medication."

That was twelve kinds of illegal, but Will couldn't bring himself to care much either way. He liked the low laughter, the familiarity of it, because it took him to another place. Back to Hannibal's office, or anywhere *not there* would be good just then. "Jack said you're releasable for your injuries. They're keeping you here for your mental well-being. That leads me to believe the pain medication won't get cut off."

"Yes, well, my mental wellbeing is sound," Hannibal said. He looked at Will. "And how about you?"

He tried to work out how to answer it, and knew that his answer laid in the silence. There was no way to sum it up. "Everything is still very... Present."

"I see. Understandable," Hannibal said. He exhaled. "I feel...foolish for being caught out. Considering the recent events."

It was possible the lost normal reaction the man could have. "He was a professional predator. Eventually, you would have out your guard down. He had a hide in the woods across from your house."

"You and I have experience with professional predators. A certain insight into their thought processes," he replied. "It pains me that I missed something that obvious."

It pained Will as well. "I wish I had gotten there sooner." He might have had all of his fingers still attached. He might have had to undergo less.

"You were his… alternate target I believe," Hannibal said. "His intention was to force you to exchange yourself for me."

He had suspected that might be the case but why did he not want Hannibal? That wasn't his usual pattern.

"But you were his type." To a t, height, weight, build. He was exactly what the man had already tortured and killed repeatedly, exactly what the man desired, and Will could tell Rigger had desired him, but something, something hadn't been right.

Hannibal twisted a wry quirk of a mouth at him. "For all my laxitude in being caught, I do have...skills in the manipulation of the mind. I simply...used my analysis skills to ensure my reactions would be most conducive to my survival."

"You left a bad taste in his mouth," Will offered, smiling a little. Strange, he couldn't place the reason for the revulsion, because he couldn't imagine finding it revolting. Hannibal's stability was appealing in multiple levels to Will.

"In his mind." Hannibal agreed to that. "I was fulfilling on one level and not on another. It was a frustration balancing on a knife edge. Delicate work."

"And it kept you engaged in a task throughout what he was doing." Really admirably genius. Will was mostly sure he wouldn't have had the control and forethought for that. "Did you tell the resident here that?"

"No." Hannibal half lidded his eyes. "His initial reaction to me stating I didn't try to escape immediately was... interesting."

"Interesting how?" They knew abductions, kidnappings, serial killers well enough. Of one was able, immediate escape was always recommended, but the risk was high that the perpetrator was at his most alert at that time as well.

"I believe he regarded my approach as… abnormal. I should have panicked rather than assessing the situation. Apparently skill sets should not be applied in dire straits." Hannibal sighed. "But of course, you have met that issue before."

"Yes." And it didn't shock Will. Nothing, nothing shocked Will, even if he still felt like Hannibal's seams were showing, though he couldn't articulate what they were seams to, or seams or, or what was behind. "I suppose if I tried to talk to him it wouldn't help?"

"You can try," he said. "Perhaps they would feel more comfortable if we agreed to associate afterwards. Mutual support."

"I don't want to..." It was entirely the wrong place to hesitate, and yet, Will did, like an idiot. "To be a burden. I know you have a lot to deal with, and I'm... Unstable."

Hannibal looked at him, one of those long slow looks. "I assure you it is for mutual benefit. I am controlled, you are intuitive. It could be said I lack intuitiveness...”

"I'm more inclined to say you used to have it and you burned it out." He shifted, watching Hannibal's hands again, because it was that or stare at his neck and let himself feel Rigger breathing at the back of his mind.

"Mm." He flexed his fingers. "Possibly this might be true." He sounded like he was smiling.

"That... Might just be wishful thinking on my part." And if he'd burned it. Out, he wouldn't have found Hannibal, which would have been, unthinkable, devastating, not, not something he wanted to consider. "But, I'd like to help when you're released."

"I think it would be good for the both of us." Hannibal stared into thin air for a moment. "I understand about what is happening with you."

He watched Hannibal's profile, because it was easier than eye contact. "As a psychological concept...?"

"More intimately than that. We who look into the Abyss, etcetera," he said closing his eyes as if the abyss was opening in front of him.

And the best Will could do was make an understanding noise, before leaning forward. Half the time, he didn't understand what compelled him into action, inaction, anything, what compelled his thoughts or his responses. He hooked the cord to one earbud with a finger, and leaned up to slip it in Hannibal's ear. It was only after he'd committed to the action that he felt the weight of intimacy in it.

It was even as he was contemplating that, that he felt the weight of further intimacy in a literal way as Hannibal rested a bandaged hand on his, as if it was something simple and easy to do. But he knew, had always know that Hannibal did not touch or seek touch. He wrapped himself in a protective aloofness and yet...this was where they were. A bandaged hand resting gently on his own like an anchor.

* * *

He slept for a while, had dinner with Hannibal -- the hospital food turning his stomach sympathetically as Hannibal carefully picked through it -- and then the doctors made him hobble to his own room to get his dressing looked at. Supposedly. The nurses wanted to see to Hannibal as well, and Will was taking it as an opportunity to try to snag the psychiatric resident.

Dr Kostav had been comparatively illusive, but when he heard that Will wanted to speak to him he became much more approachable. It was subtly uncomfortable for Will, but he focused on trying to keep himself focused, to keep from showing any of the traits that Chilton had all but salivated over. For all he knew, he was a well discussed topic in the psychological world. They were probably gossipier than cops were.

"Ah, Dr Graham," Dr Kostav said breezing into his room once his dressing was done. "Nurse Rodriguez said that you wanted to meet me? It really is an honor to be discussing things with you."

Honor was not the word Will was looking for. "I'd heard there were some concerns for my colleague's mental health, in regards to the case. I wanted to discuss that with you." He felt stronger, strong enough that he could fake it.

"Dr Lecter? I am afraid I can speak in generalities only for obvious reasons," Dr Kostov said.

"I was there at the scene. I'm very familiar with what happened, and Dr. Lecter. When Jack told me about everyone's concerns, I was actually relieved that he'd maintained as much control as he still has." He let that sit there, waiting for Kostov's reaction.

"His level of control is...anomalous in conjunction with his experiences," Dr Kostov said cautiously. "It points to a likely possibility of an acute need for professional assistance."

"He's an extraordinary psychiatrist, who's accustomed to working with the FBI on cases of aberrant psychologies," Will countered.

"Which doesn't necessarily exclude normal reactions," Dr Kostov countered. "You say you were there...can you really tell me that someone could not have undergone the specifics of that ordeal without reaction being a certainty?"

"I expected Hannibal would react just as he is reacting." Will said it very firmly, careful in his word choice. "This controlled state is normal *for him*. He has a psychiatrist he works with, who is also well aware that this is just his baseline. I..." Will hunted for the right words, the words that would sound right without giving away things that wasn't his right, gleaned where other people wouldn't see. "He's not repressing what happened, because the small things he's showing are actually a huge reaction *for him.

"I would appreciate examples if you are able to give them," Dr Kostov asked, clearly intrigued by what he was saying. "Not having met him before, the baselines I am working to are the average." 

 

Will grimaced, trying to find a way to explain it without it sounding over intimate. "He's initiating touch, which he never does. Hesitating, which he also never does…?”

"Interesting. Touch avoidance is usually the response to abuse," the psychiatrist said. "He seemed touch avoidant to me."

"You're a stranger to him," Will pointed out. "I'm not sure why he'd seek reassurance from you."

"You are saying he doesn't touch at all normally?" Dr Kostov asked frowning a little.

"Not at all." Will could feel the thoughts behind the man's eyes. "It's very subtle."

"Hmm. Well this does start to put a different complexion on things," he commented. "What else have you noticed?"

"He's withdrawn." He didn't add the caveat of 'for him', because it was an extremely subtle difference.

"He appears… very disassociated," the psychiatrist said cautiously. "How does this compare to normal levels?"

"Rather normal." Will's mouth quirked a little. 

"Mmm, I see. And you say he regularly sees a therapist of his own?" he asked.

"Dr. Du Maurier." It was a small community, psychiatry, and hopefully the name meant something. "Once a week."

His eyebrows raised. "I didn't think she was in active practice after...” He cleared his throat. "Well then... that changes things a great deal. As long as he prioritizes and attends a session with his own therapist and takes recommendation from her, then I am willing to sign off on his release."

"I talked to him, and I'm taking some time off as well, so... He won't be left to his own devices." Like Will was at all stable, but hell, he could play a few bars of stable since he knew the tune. 

The resident nodded. "Well, now I know Dr Du Maurier is involved, I am considerably reassured."

"Good. I'm... pretty sure if anyone can come out of this well, it'll be Hannibal." He tried to sound enthused, leaning back in bed as he was, trying to not focus on anything but remaining *focused* on the present. "Anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, as I recall, you asked to speak to me," the other man smiled slightly. "I'll have an exit session with Dr Lecter later today and then pass him back to medical."

"Great. Thank you." He settled back, waiting and watching for the man to leave. Jack, Jack would've been proud of that, that he'd managed to pull it together that long. It felt a little like a victory.

It was definitely a case of fake it until you make it. The dark thoughts just didn't seem to be draining away for some reason. It was like he had blocked it all in, got dammed up inside with the cloying thoughts.

There was no way to let them out, and no way to *get* out, and sticking around Hannibal was probably a horrible idea because he *wanted* to do things to him, wanted to do what Rigger hadn't been capable of.

He could taste it, feel it in his head, how he would feel his skin under his grip, how much *pleasure* it would be to have him as a beloved pet... And now he was getting aroused at the thought. So much for feeling detached from the sexual element. 

He leaned back, hit his head lightly on the back of the headboard. Not an ideal time to get wrapped up in the thought of Hannibal down on his hands and knees in front of him, no.

At least he had accomplished what he had intended. Getting him and Hannibal out from their watching eyes. It had occurred to him after Hannibal had spent a lot of time at Abigail’s bedside, it was probably difficult for him to return to a hospital after effectively having a break down as a surgeon.

It had probably been quiet, whatever happened, and that was something to turn his mind to as he waited to give the man enough time to talk to whoever else was coming through. If he was lucky, the resident would update Hannibal about his pending release. 

How would the shift from surgeon to psychiatrist have gone? He'd been calm handling that man with the half removed kidney, so nothing ordinary.

It was amazing how Hannibal managed to not reveal much while revealing enough. A delicate art. He knew things about him, but not the reasons why. He wanted to know why, wanted to know if Hannibal had an answer to not feeling this way.

It was there. It was all there for Will to grasp and understand that Hannibal was *just like him* in so many ways. In feeling everything, in feeling too much, but he'd separated himself from that, and Will let that knowledge settle into him with a rough-edged envy. He didn't touch and he controlled sound and his *home* quite carefully. He had the forethought *to* control, and Will couldn't manage that most times.

If he could work out why the career change, he could get a pry bar into the start of the why. It felt pivotal. Surgeons were controlling in general - it took a certain kind of mind to take life and death into his hands and cut into someone... But from his understanding of the way people worked and from his reactions...he was not devoid of emotion. Perhaps devoid of uncontrolled emotion? He wasn't even sure about that.

Walled up, stepped back. He'd seen Hannibal take great delight in things, witnessed a sort of refined glee, seen him recoil, and seen him look sad and miserable. Not devoid of emotion, but there was something held back.

It meant there was hope - if someone else had experienced this, lived through it and came out as a working, functional and happy human being, then it was hope he didn't have already. It kept him...from completely losing it, that tiniest thread.

It as a hell of a weird thing to get hope from, but it was better than letting himself dwell on Rigger's thoughts, and react, and then feel disgusted, and then, then, then he didn't really expect a nurse to stick his head in.

"Dr Graham? Dr Lecter has mentioned he would like to see you." He said and shit, it looked like he had lost time again. But maybe just through over thinking.

It was better than losing track of time all together. He reached for the crutches, carefully levering himself out of the bed. It was going to be a slow walk, but. They'd be able to go home in the morning, where-ever it was.

* * *

Things had progressed as he had hoped. Will was responding beautifully to the cues in front of him. With his level of sensitivity, he barely had to do anything to elicit a response, which was good, as what he was doing was falling far below the thresh-hold of most people’s perceptions. No, Will had intervened and had responded well to the subtle suggestion that he needed him there, but not so much that there was pressure on him to do anything. A delicate balance but the effort was worthwhile.

He had Will more ensnared than he'd been before, in his slow meltdown. He'd patched himself together, quite badly, long enough to find Hannibal, and that patch work wasn't going to hold. Will was dozing in the chair beside Hannibal's bed, and his injury was bleeding just a little, just enough to flavor the air.

He had not come through his ordeal completely unscathed as it took all his control not to reach to dip his finger in the blood itself to taste, and appreciate. He lay there and contemplated. If his earlier surmise was correct, Will was starting, or perhaps developing was more appropriate sexual arousal with regard to him. This was good, it meant he could use that as a tool to bind him inexorably to him, create an intimacy that would have Will willingly blind to any minor clues. He needed that, Will was too sharp, too sensitive and too intuitive to not connect the dots unless he didn’t actually want to see the truth.

He would, eventually, find out the truth. That was part of the charm of Will, wondering what he'd do when he pieced it all together. If he had him tied in much closer, there was a good chance that Will might flip slides entirely. 

It was a shame that the tradeoff had been one of his fingers, and temporarily reduced hand dexterity. He would adapt. He always did. He could play for understated sympathy as well - it would probably work on Alana as well.

He sensed a change in Will's breathing, and schooled himself to look sleepy himself. A little bit of cultivated vulnerability would not go amiss.

There was something about what Will had said earlier. His seams were showing. It was a very carefully, very odd word choice, not a good articulation, but he could tell Will had been going for something. 

He heard Will's breathing quiet again, careful control as the man tried to wake up without waking him up. Yes, rest in itself was helping. Some care and comfort and sexual "therapy" and he could lay enough subtle bonds on him to make the chance of him turning equal. He remained dozing in appearance for a while. Long enough so that it seemed natural that he should wake, and he gave the tiniest of twitches as if he had been startled awake by a dream or something of that ilk.

"Morning." Will still sounded sleep fogged, muzzy, and slightly tight from pain. He didn't want to break that yet. 

"...Good morning Will," he replied, blinking rapidly as if to adjust his visit. "I hope you have not been sitting there long."

Will laughed, that same ragged noise that most of his laughs sounded like. Like it was being pulled out of him forcibly. "Since last night? You were pretty groggy when they looked at last night during rounds."

"You will not thank me when you need your spine realigned," Hannibal said calmly. "It is not good for you."

"I'll add it to the list," Will drawled, rubbing at the back of his neck. If he was being given freedom of movement in the hospital, then none of his colleagues suspected the depths of his mental disturbances. "Jack's coming by with my car this morning."

"May I trouble you for a lift?" Hannibal asked politely. "I can only assume that my house is no longer regarded as a crime scene."

The edge of Will's mouth tugged sideways, half smile, half acknowledgment. "Yeah. Once we worked out it all happened in the hallway, we didn't. No one got into anything. It should be... just like you left it."

Hannibal paused deliberately before speaking. "Have you given more thought to...our mutual support? Though usually I value my privacy and solitude I find myself...unnerved at the prospect of being alone."

"Whatever, wherever your.... preference is." He could see the heels of Will's mind re-engaging, coming up with half contingency plans that involved the dogs, either way. Out of all of them, Rigger had been an accidentally masterstroke. So many opportunities for Will to see himself in the man's skin.

"I think...I need to face my issues regarding dogs face on," he said. "Perhaps after a stop at mine, we can go to your place."

He did not want Will hunting around his house just yet, and dogs weren't really a problem.

Will's space was small, and would force a level of casual intimacy that would make for lazy work of Will's barriers. He watched Will stare at some point at his neck, and shake his head a little. "I, well, that's one way to deal with it? Are you going to talk to your therapist...?"

"Yes. I will drive myself from my place to yours, so I can make an appointment," he gave a small smile. "And it is possible that you might wish some time alone no matter how good a house guest I intend to be."

"Enough time to hobble around and try to clean up a week's worth of dog hair." Will didn't even bother feigning embarrassment -- it was simply a fact. "That's probably a good idea. If you want me to drive..." The offer was there, and it was an hour drive. Offered by a man who had been shot through the hip and in no small amount of pain himself.

It would be worth it to ask Bedelia if she were up to the drive.

"Perhaps... you should ask one of you work colleagues to give you a lift. I did not think you would be driving personally...your hip Will..." he reminded.  
"Not the stupidest thing I've done recently." Still, it would be interesting to see where the suggestion took him.

"You may even persuade Jack to give us a lift," Hannibal suggested. "Or Dr Bloom or even Special Agent Katz."

"I think you'd like Beverly if you got to know her." Will shifted, struggling to get to his feet. "Left my phone in the other room. Be back once it's sorted."

"I appreciate this Will," he said by way of thanks. "I will continue with my attempts to make you eat properly and rest."

Will struggled with the crutches. "I hope I'll be more of a support than a burden." Just a simple statement, and he did not wait for an answer, didn't require one as he started unsteadily to the door. It gave him a stretch of quiet once the door was closed.

Ah, Will. He had such a need to be needed and a fear of it too. A beautiful contradiction in part.  
He would gather his clothes when he got home, and food that had not spoiled. He certainly wanted to have a very thorough shower...it might do to let Will glimpse his body to keep the thoughts simmering.

Tempt the killer in his head, tempt Will. It took very little effort to turn the man in any direction he liked, but he fought back, argued at the most unexpected times. There was a great well of strength in him, an ability to still have startling insights when he should have been entirely unable to. The touch of bloody fingers to Hannibal's mouth. The nearly conspiratorial suggestion of *seams*.

It was possible he was acting on intuition, letting his subconscious impulses rise up. No, it would ever be a case of if Will would discover his secret. All of this was in some respects an effort to save his friends. Before he had relished the opportunity of matching wits with him. Now he found he did not want him to die. And to do that, he had to manipulate him.

Dr. Kostov came in while he was expecting Will's return. The door opened too quickly, and perhaps the man had Will detained with one more round of paperwork prior to his release. He had a clipboard in hand, and a false smile on his face. "Good morning, Dr. Lecter."

"Good morning," he replied. "I am hoping that you bring me good news?"

"You slept through the night, and there is no medical reason to keep you. You're going to need physical therapy for your hands, and help changing your dressings." And there seemed to be a lingering 'but'.

"Yes, I have made arrangements," Hannibal answered calmly. "I assumed that would be the case. Is there some reservations to my discharge?"

"Given what you've gone though, I'm concerned about your mental well-being." More so than the man would no doubt have been for a woman in a similar position, as the unimaginative doctor could too easily imagine himself in that situation. "Your colleague suggested you had a therapist."

"I do. An excellent therapist who I will be visiting in the next couple of days depending on when is convenient to her," he answered. He knew all this...why was he getting cold feet about it now?  
An unfortunate barrier between himself and his goal. The man was studying him, expression too interested. "You're being released on the condition that you have someone stay with you or have visiting care."

"I have a mutual arrangement with Will Graham. I will watch him as he watches me," Hannibal said. "And I suspect visiting care will be arranged."

"Ah, that's a relief. I'm afraid he's going to pull his stitches if he carries on like he's invincible." He turned the clipboard toward Hannibal as if he'd been withholding it before. "If you'll sign your paperwork, I'll finish with Agent Graham's release and get you both out of here."

"Of course," Hannibal answered and borrowed a pen, signing in the appropriate places. "I will get ready to leave. Than you."

"Good luck, and please, take care of yourself." He was still watching Hannibal, like he was some specimen, and it was not an option to add him to the rolodex.

"I certainly will," he answered. Really, he probably wanted to write him up for an article. He got out of bet, the aches and pains more to do with stiffness at this point.

He needed to become active again, or as active as he could manage. The doctor lingered, and then left, leaving Hannibal to wonder if Will was getting the same last minute delays as well. And how he was handling them. If he let the wrong edge slip, he might end up in the hospital for an unintended reason.

He didn't want that. He certainly could not do what he planned in hospital. It would be a complex seduction, balanced and delicate until he found Will's key.

He pulled on rough hospital scrubs, and lingered, attempting to look as if he'd just gotten ready. It was unfortunate that manipulating his hands *was* painful, but it was not the first time he'd had such an injury. 

And Will knocked this time.

He was not sure why exactly, but he called out "Come in Will," anyway.

Some oddly misplaced sense of propriety, where he'd merely let himself in before. Will nudged the door open slowly, and hobbled in, dressed at least. Alana or Jack had probably brought him clothing from the locker room. "Did you just get a shakedown from the doctor?"

"Yes,” Hannibal replied. "Although it was limited as shakedowns go. I thought we had discussed all of that yesterday and yet he felt the need to reiterate."

"Same." Will hobbled in closer, leaning hard on his crutches. "Alana's in town right now, at a street fair. Thing. Apparently people still do this, and its Saturday. She's going to drive me down to Wolftrap, and would like to catch a ride back with whoever drives you down? Jack's incommunicado."

"I thought Jack was meant to be driving your car here?" Hannibal asked. "Well, if Special Agent Katz is coming too, then the problem is solved."

"This always feels like a game of extreme carpooling." And he might not even have a car to be concerned about. "The ultimate applied IQ test, and we somehow always fail it. Jack once drove off without me from a scene."

"I see. Then we will do well to not trust him as a lift anywhere," Hannibal replied. "Then you will go with Dr Bloom and I will go with Special Agent Katz who will then pick up Dr Bloom for the return journey."

Will nodded, and moved in closer, but he seemed to be looking at something off to the side. "Do you need any help?"

No doubt a hallucination. The fact of his lucidity in the face of such pressure was remarkable. "I am capable of moving, possibly more so than you with your leg."

Everything that was going wrong was internally contained, very carefully. A man like Will could function on the edge of collapse for years. "Possibly. I'm on some great pain medications, though." There was a quiet buzzing, and Will leaned on one crutch harder, fishing his cell phone from his coat pocket. "Will Graham. Oh, okay, yeah. Yeah, that sounds great. Okay, sure. Room 305." 

"Do I take it Dr Bloom is here?" Hannibal asked as he hung up.

"On her way up. Also, she stopped at a French bakery and got croissants. Almond pear? And coffee if you’re up to it." Ah, that was the benefit of Alana. She certainly remembered how best to appease people, and catered to their softer touches.

"That would be...most appreciated," he said genuinely. "The hospital food has been somewhat torturous to my palate."

"I'm pretty sure people with normal taste in food find it awful." Will shifted, moved to sit down for a moment. Best for Alana to meet them, then, and if they could keep Jack at a distance, all the better for his plans.

Sometimes Jack was an unwitting ally, and other times he was a liability. He sat down himself on the bed contemplating his course of action. He was well enough to shop for groceries when he got home - Will would not think of that immediately.

Will thought of very little immediately, but it was better to not subsist on food that came out of deep freezers and cans. His companion was quiet, watching the empty space in a way that he would allow to concern himself when they were in private. Alana's appearance was not unwelcome, though the knock startled Will almost out of his chair.

"Good morning," she said giving a warm smile to them both. He could see her do a rapid assessment of his state of mind from that first glance. "You both look a lot better than when I saw you last. You were both unconscious at the time, so...”

"'It's good to be conscious again." Will shifted, hauling himself up to his feet. "Thanks for coming. And agreeing to drive in circles for a while."

"I'll survive," Alana said. "And how are you feeling Hannibal?"

"I am recovering well," he said simply. "I am longing to be out of the hospital though."

"I think we have everything?" Paperwork and prescriptions, and themselves, and that was all they needed.

* * *

His car smelled like coffee, croissants, and blood. It was a little startling to remember that just a few days before, he'd been laying in the back of his station wagon, bleeding out while Hannibal shivered. It was all right there in his senses, and eventually he'd had to crack the window to get air to breath, sipping shakily at his coffee while Alana drove.

"How are you doing Will?" she asked glancing over at him after quite a long stretch of silence.

"Struggling." He shifted, squared his shoulders against the seat, and pushed the button to roll it up. "Mostly keeping my head above water."

"I hear Jack is finally giving you downtime,” Alana said. "Are you sure you're up to dealing with Hannibal and his issues as well?"

The edges of Will's mouth twitched, and he took a sip of his coffee, let it settle in his mouth. "What issues?"

"Hannibal can be...exacting at the best of times," Alana said diplomatically. "It is one thing to visit, quite another to… cohabit."

"He doesn't want to be alone right now. *I* don't want to be alone. I enjoy his company. I'm sure we can go at least a couple of days without a knife fight." Or an urge to dominate the man in the middle of his Livingroom floor. There was still that, lingering there. 

"It's very unusual for him to seek company. It is usually by invitation...exclusive invitation," Alana said.

He wasn't sure what the implication there was -- that he wasn't the sort to be invited? "And a very controlled environment, in his own house, as dinner and a show. I know."

"You occupy a rare niche in his life. Someone who he genuinely likes...not just a colleague, or one of his cultivated areas of interest." She exhaled a little. "I think I'm trying to say, this is as vulnerable as Hannibal gets, and I was just making sure you were comfortable with that."

That was Alana speak for This is a big deal, don't fuck it up. Will could appreciate it, on a few levels. "Are you giving me the shovel talk?"

She smiled a little. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He laughed a little, and looked down at the lid of his coffee cup. "Duly noted. I value his friendship. I'm not going to do anything to put that at risk." He'd put himself at risk to get him back.

"I know that," she looked at him briefly. "You are good for each other in a lot of ways."

A psychiatrist, a patient, and the patient's dogs. He wasn't sure how that worked, how he was good for anyone at all. "But I'm too unstable to be anything but your friend."

"I think you do yourself a disservice," Alana said. "You have a very strong core personality Will, otherwise it would not be fighting back so vigorously. Remember that."

He rubbed his fingers and thumb over his temples, closed his eyes. "One day, when we're not exceedingly stressed out, which I'm pretty sure will happen after the apocalypse, you're going to have to explain that to me. That whole line of reasoning. How I'm too crazy to date, but I'm doing myself a disservice works. Not now, though."

"I probably won't need to explain it then," she replied. “So Bev is taking me back right?"

"Apparently?" He was trying to imagine her and Hannibal in a car for an hour, but she had... A good way about things when it was necessary. Brusque, but calm about it.

If necessary she knew when to leave someone in silence if they were not inclined to conversation. "Carpooling gives me a headache," Alana said. "Who's been looking after your dogs?"

"Neighbor about a mile down. I rotate my 'please help me keep my mutts fed' requests so as not to wear out my welcome. They like the idea that if something happened to them, they might get a better outcome because of me." He opened his eyes, watching the cold and the snow drift back to the day he'd found Hannibal, snuck over to the truck, he...

The car was stopped, and Alana was touching his arm. "We're here Will. I think your dogs are about to go crazy."

He shook his head a little, and popped the door open. He didn't quite feel oriented enough to talk until he was standing in the snow, surveying his house and the land around it. "Yeah, I gotta ask you, what school of psychiatry did Hannibal prefer when he mentored you? Because he wants to get over his dog issues with mine."

Alana blinked a little. "Well. That is...brave and possibly a little soon in the proceedings but… It would be a normal step in therapy - facing the fear, desensitizing it...just not usually this soon."

"Well, you did say he was *exacting*." And maybe the both of them were a little unstable. He was pretty sure that he hadn't been mistaken, that the whole thing had thrown Hannibal un perceptibly *off*, even if he was unaware of it. His seams were showing, even if what was behind those seams wasn't. Yet. Will fished in his pocket for his house keys, to add them to the car key Alana was handing him. "Should be warmer inside."

He could hear his dogs getting unbearably excited at the prospect of him being home after a few days absence. 

"I'll have a drink or something while we're waiting for Bev," Alana said. "Help you tidy up a bit...get the guest bed ready, that sort of thing."

"Thanks." Getting up and down the stairs was going to be a problem, and he was mostly tempted to sleep in the Livingroom with his dogs. He took his time opening the front door, and one of them tried to jump him right away as he let it swing open, and never mind the crutches. "Hey, down, down! Okay, everyone circle around and smell me, yeah, I smell funny, huh?"

There was a milling pattern to his dogs that he recognized, the strange sort of hierarchy that he could see instinctively. Winston was most definitely top dog now and his second in command. He was wagging his tail, over excited and loving him being home.

"Good boy, good boy..." He leaned the crutches against the wall, let Alana slip into the house ahead of him. "Go on, run around a little, I bet you were pent up all night, huh?"

He had forgot about his cozy nest of comfort he had set up when Hannibal was watching him sleep, cooking him a gourmet breakfast from odds and ends in his cupboards. Alana was standing looking at it briefly as he came in. "Well I suppose that's one way to solve the guest bed issue," she said lightly.  
Winston and Rudy trailed after him into the house. "I, I was having trouble sleeping." It didn't need much more of an explanation than that. Not really. His Livingroom was his home and his workspace, the rest of the houses rooms where things were stored until he wanted them. Sleep included.

"Do you have a guest room ready set up?" She asked. "I can go get that pulled together while you make sure nothing has gone off in the fridge."

"You mean empty my fridge? It's upstairs. I never knew why I bothered setting one up, but." A house of rooms, disconnected each one from his reality, spaces to store things while he struggled to work out what to *do* with them. He was paid decently, his living requirements were meager, he was professionally successful, but nothing mattered past the next... life he could save.

"I'll check it out and find your vacuum. I don't think I could bear to watch you try with a bullet wound in your hip." It was a light tease, nothing serious.

"I've been reliably informed that it's hard to watch even when I'm not injured." He hitched his way a little further into the room picking his way past his bedding on the floor, down the short hallway to the kitchen. He could put coffee on, and make sure it was drinkable.

"Well, we'll give the place a whip around," Alana said. It was strange to think of her as cleaning, and doing ordinary things like that. Alana was...Alana.

Alana took charge, and it was not usually in *that* way that she was taking charge. Unless she was using it as a chance to inspect that the place was safe for habitation, which... then that would make sense. Perhaps it was just as simple as she wanted to clean up. He could be reading too much into it. She seemed quite happy to start in on things he had let slip for a bit. 

And 'a bit' was probably understating the issue, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t health and safety violation anywhere. He had to keep things kind of tidy due to the dogs.

It was something for him to chew over as he checked the fridge -- meager -- and started coffee. They'd have to get groceries, but there might be enough for another day.

"How's your laundry Will?" Alana said having run the vacuum around rapidly in the front room. His nest was now all neatly folded up on the sofa and... Yes, she'd even pulled out the cushions and done that too.

There wasn't much to do except watch and take it all in. "Laundry is non-problematic."

"Hey, I'm in the domestic goddess zone, don't knock it.” She smiled at him. "Upstairs looks okay."  
Upstairs was pretty unlived in.

That was one way to keep the cleaning requirements under control, Will supposed. He re-cleaned three mugs, carefully, and poured coffee into two. "I think tomorrow we might make a trip out for groceries."

"Hannibal is able to drive isn't he?" Alana asked. "Sounds like a good idea. Have you got much in?"

"Enough for tonight, breakfast." Sort of. He'd be able to come up with something creative, and if nothing else, Hannibal might get amusement from watching Will set a snare trap in the woods like a genuine redneck. "Where did Jack hare off to, out of curiosity?"

"Ah, coffee." She took it and smiled. "I'm not sure. I think it might have been a summonses from on high. He does have bosses, regardless of how he behaves."

"I refuse to believe they've had a thought independent of him since he's started working for them," Will countered. It was all familiar motions, the smell of coffee, decent, good coffee in the air, pouring it, taking his time. Things he could let filter into his senses without overwhelming them. "I'm sure they'll be singing his song when he's done."

"Well luckily that song now includes some downtime for you," Alana said. "Jack has a tendency to rationalize things so what he wants is the right course of action."

He gave a quiet chuckle, and added a little sugar to his coffee mug. "We all... rationalize to get what we want. Some of us are just better at it."

"Jack is a grandmaster," Alana only half joked. "I have been recommending some rest and recuperation for some time."

He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, exhaled. "Hannibal... forced the issue after he found me asleep under my desk."

She paused for only a moment. "I am glad for your sake that he did," she said finally.

There was no need to give her the rest of the information. She knew he was hearing things that weren't entirely there. "I thought I was *home*, petting Winston." He grimaced a little when he said it. "It's gotten better. I just can't get rid of Rigger right now."

"Having problems letting go of the mindsets?" She asked sympathetically.

And afraid of what he might do under the circumstances. He was entirely in his home, in his *place*, his sphere of control, and Hannibal was going to be there, with the dogs, and it was going to be. It *felt* like an anticipation, like he was holding a breath. "Mmmm."

"Hannibal was helping you with that then," she said. "With any success?"

"Some." He could feel his mouth moving like a smile, but it wasn't quite there as he reached fingers down to scratch Winston behind the ear. "I need to go round up the rest of the pack before they find too many dead things to roll in."

“I’ll scrub down the surfaces.” Alana offered. "After that I suspect that Bev will be here...or there about."

"Thanks. Thanks for... Just thanks." He hitched his crutches in closer, abandoned the coffee, and made his way back to the front door. 

Either he'd lost time, or Alana had an impeccable sense of timing, because standing on the porch and counting heads didn't take as long as he expected it to; he'd shepherded them back inside when he saw Beverly's Jeep roll to a stop just behind his Volvo. She had her door open before Hannibal, and seemed to nearly bound out. "We have groceries!"

It was actually pretty pleasing that his house actually looked up together.  
"I'll help you carry them in," Alana said even as Hannibal stepped out looking a lot better, dressing in his familiar smart clothes.

He could count, right off the bat, about 4 layers, which seemed right for the weather, and his hair didn't look quite so limp. A comb and a change of clothes made a vast difference. Hannibal moved to the bad seat, and grabbed the same two suitcases will had watched him drag through multiple airports now-- one check, one carryon. It was generally better to only lose *half* of one's clothes if it came to it. "Come inside, I made coffee. In case you want to personally experience the fine line between caffeinated and overdose." 

"I am sure I can cope with one before I answer our lord and masters beck and call," Bev said.

"I never say no to a coffee, Will," Hannibal said bringing his things inside. "I will just put these away."

He stepped out of the way, and let them in. Beverly and Alana with groceries, and Hannibal with suitcases, and his seven dogs. It was funny that on the cusp of horror, he had more people and creatures that cared about him, who were friends, in his house than he'd. Ever had. It was a flow, and a life he wasn't accustomed to experiencing. He supposed he feigned through it, closed the door and heard Hannibal moving about upstairs, bandaged hands still deft despite what had happened, voice a little raw, red brown burn pressure marks against his throat that would have festered and let in infection with time. Alana talking to Beverly, talking to him, pouring coffee, small words about groceries and fresh fruit, and Amos eating up the attention of so many people as he clambered onto a stool for pettings from Bev because he'd adjusted to human hands that didn't hit him.

It was almost as if he had a ...home, not just a house. A home with friends and a future and hope. Friends who would help him when he needed it and that scared the hell out of him for some reason.

By the time Hannibal re-emerged groceries were unpacked and he was apparently in an idyllic scene of dogs and friends.

It was foreign to him, jarringly so, even as he moved in towards them, tentative and trying to respond in all the right ways, and maybe. Maybe Hannibal was right to call what he did to himself abuse. Because if a dog had acted like he did, unsure of what to do with people who cared, he would have known immediately what was up. No problems, no hesitation. It could be fixed, with time and work and care and exposure.

He dropped his hand to pet Amos, and offered to try to make crepes to feed Bev and Alana before they left because it was the one recipe he was sure he wouldn't fuck up, and it felt like the right place to show off. And it didn't break the mood, didn't do anything weird. Just felt right, more talking than activity, Alana telling stories and Bev parrying, because some days the field they worked in was a comedy routine and everyone had funny stories. Hannibal even had a patient who showed up in full diving kit, oxygen mask included.

It was all strangely normal and that more than anything threw him, not the hallucination or anything like that. He was present in the conversation, didn't lose time and was completely....normal.  
Which was abnormal for him. Normally he got twitchy around people in his space but when Bev and Alana finally left, he actually was genuinely sorry to see them go. They had both taken time out of their normal very busy lives to help him and Hannibal and he was grateful for that. And Hannibal...he didn't seem to have any problem with the dogs what so either. Either that or he really had superhuman control.

He half leaned and half sat on a barstool in front of the sink, cleaning a pan because it was easier than using crutches in kitchen. The pain medication was wearing off, and he was starting to feel flares, though he couldn't imagine what Hannibal's assortment of injuries felt like just then. No, no, he *could* and that was the problem. "How're you doing?" Other than getting nosed at knee level by Winston.

It made Will glad he'd taught them all not to jump.  
"I am well enough," Hannibal replied. "I am finding this level of contact tolerable."

"Tolerable is different than comfortable," Will pointed out. "Pain meds?"

"I have some yes," he replied sitting again. "I hope you do not mind that we shopped. I remembered that was what I was going to do, before I was…interrupted."

Hell of a way of describing it. "No, I'm glad you did. Thank you, by the way. Beverly was pretty excited about all of it, but I unfortunately can't place half the things you brought."

"I introduced her to some of the better places to find good fresh food," he said. "I am relieved to have good food again. Do you have any preferences for tonight?"

"Something I can help with?" It was something to do, something to focus on, and he was in an environment he could control.

Hannibal finds her tolerable and interesting enough to treat as human

"I am sure that if it interests you, you can assist," Hannibal replied. "I find it interests me, calms me. There is a familiarity that will ground me swifter than months of therapy."

"I'm doing okay right now. I'll help. Just need to get some pain meds first, maybe make a better pot of coffee." Hit the bathroom after the first twelve or so cups. The crepes had been decent, not anywhere near burned, which was almost a point of pride.

"I think I will make Normandy pork," Hannibal mused. "It is something that freezes well. It is not too complex, and I might not be on my best form."

Hannibal not on his best form was probably still decent competition for Will. "This is where I have to ask, what *is* Normandy pork?" He kept an eye on Winston, watched him nudge his nose curiously against Hannibal's ankle. "Tcccht."

"It is pork cooked long and slow until very tender in cider, with sweet onions, and large mushrooms, cooking apples...and then you make a crème sauce of it as well. And add touches like garlic croutons."

That apparently was not complicated.

It sounded decently challenging, though. "Okay." He finished drying the pot, and set it aside before arming himself with his crutches. "I'll just get my pain meds, and circle back around. Do you want me to herd the dogs upstairs?"

"I am sure that we can cope," Hannibal said. "I shall find the ingredients."

"All right." He hitched carefully past the table where Hannibal was lounging, eyes on the floor to make sure he didn't crunch on a carefully behaving tail. They'd want to go out and play later, and he suspected that once dinner was in and cooking he could sit on the porch and whip tennis balls for them until his arm fell off. It would guarantee them a quiet night, with no soft whining noises. At least, not from the dogs.

Getting the pills was an adventure in itself and he was feeling quite tired in a way when he returned. Hannibal not only had brought groceries but cooking utensils too. He had professional chef knives from the looks of the gleaming steel.

"That was probably a good call," Will noted as he hobbled his way carefully back to the kitchen. If nothing else, he was pretty sure exhaustion would yield him sleep. Oddly, the whispers of Rigger were quiet. Satiated, perhaps, slaked for the moment by the quiet closeness of a would be victim. No, no, ideally that would have *been* the outcome. Once upon a time, that had been the outcome. He'd had that, and he'd lost it, and focused in on the fetish that had cost him everything.

"It is an ex-surgeon's habit to have knives of the finest quality." Hannibal said handing him one. "I need the belly pork cubed into manageable chunks."

"One inch, two inches?" Will edged in close enough to snag a stool to rest on while he chopped. If nothing else, there was no way he could get into a crime scene without ruining it for a couple of weeks. That would keep Jack away.

"Mm...Whatever you feel happiest eating," he replied. "The knives are very sharp. Very little pressure is needed."

"How're your hands?" He was curious about that, the difference it made having one finger less, the penetrating cuts through his palms. It was well wrapped still.

"There is some pain, but I can still grip," he answered. "There is a reason you are cutting the meat." He apparently was cutting vegetable.

"Apparently that was too logical for me to track," Will deadpanned, but he started on cutting it into roughly one inch cubes, careful. Not as fast as he'd seen Hannibal work, but careful seemed a better tactic.

"You should cut with the grain of the meat. It becomes a matter of feeling the right point," Hannibal said.

Will stopped, and looked at the meat for a moment, squinting until that idea made sense. "Explain to me why I was always told against the grain for crappy Sunday roasts?"

"Because you can saw at it, and a cheap cut of meat deserves nothing less." He smiled. "Anyone can cut that way but only someone skilled can cut with the meat direction."

"Hmn, so like this?" It was a more careful slice, slower, trying to feel for the resistance in the meat. Hopefully he wasn't going to make it a frustrating experience for Hannibal, but he could also recognize someone who enjoyed teaching.

"Yes...that is good Will," he gave a genuine smile. "Like surgery, cooking just requires attention to detail to transcend a passable meal into something...impressive."

"And focus." He needed to do things that required focus more often. There was a piano going musty and out of tune in the corner, and he could probably shake it out, see how much he still remembered. Christ, maybe for once he'd stumbled into the mind of a semi domestic serial asshole.

"It is by doing these things that I shake loose the stresses of the day." Hannibal glanced up at him. "There might be a lot of cooking being done over the next few days. I apologize in advance."

"Nothing to apologize for. I, I used to do things like this to relax. Not cook with your precision, but..." He caught Hannibal's eyes, and they were calm, with a glimmer of something underneath, an openness that made him go quiet, and drop his eyes.

"I suspect very few people cook with my precision,” Hannibal said. "Which some might object to on principle?"

"Science practiced well is an art. What is there to object to?" He tilted his attention back to the meat, the way it settled, rested after he cut it.

"There are those that believe a great chef cook through intuition," he said slicing the apple in large rings, coring the center. "I'm afraid I cannot call it intuition, merely expertise. Perhaps there is a lack in it."

It was an oddly vulnerable statement for Hannibal though it was said with calm equanimity.

It took Will aback slightly, and he finished his cutting carefully. "You're extremely passionate about it, though. I'm not sure what intuition you seem to be missing?"

"I substitute unconscious talent for conscious analysis," Hannibal said. "My intuition has not proven to be as reliable as I would like."

"Some experts are kinesics, and some experts are cognitive. One isn't necessarily better than the other, and the kinesics ones make crappier teachers," Will offered, gathering up the meat pile with his hands. Rudy was edging in closer, drawn by the smell.

"We are going to sear those lightly, then they will cook long and slow," Hannibal said. "Do you have a frying pan?"

"I thought they were all frying pans," he joked, gesturing to the just cleaned one that was sitting on the counter. It was higher walled, mostly because he hated burning his hands with splashes.

"We will sear it with fine oil. The taste of the oil can be important. Butter will not go hot enough," he said. He'd brought that too and he wielded it skillfully. "Would you wash the mushrooms thoroughly? Slice half of them into thin slivers. The last few we'll leave whole.

His mind needed no prompting at all to start presenting him with images, thoughts and memories of how we all contributed to the ecosystem, giving back in death, people plucked out of their lives and fed back into the world, making a connection he hadn't been able to make in reality, to really connect, had he ever really connected with anyone like that? Will's hands lingered on the package, whole foods, weight, a barcode, and he focused on that as he hitched his way over to the sink. "Right. No one wants dirt or pig shit or dead diabetic in their food."

"Indeed," Hannibal said. "Those images still haunt you?"  
"I can't forget *anything*. I have no hazy recollections, time does not wash away the sharper edges of a moment. Never has." And everything was ready in a moment, for his mind to recall like a cat walking carelessly across piano keys. "I remember the fear, the blind disconnected panic of a decaying dying man grabbing my arm, his pain, the smell, the peaceful quality of the forest. I remember the satisfaction of our killer surveying his farm, his giving back, the way it curled warm in his chest like nothing else ever had."

"Mm. I understand," Hannibal answered. He glance up at him. "There are ways to… reduce their access to your mind. Your consciousness. Imagine that your memories and experiences that are created are paperwork on a desk. You are not allowed to destroy it, and it became cluttered and every time you try to do something you disturb something else and it gets harder and hard to do anything new.... But if you have the mental equivalent of a...filing cabinet. The memories remain, but put away. Not interfering."

"Is that what you do?" He'd tried that, in a way, before, but he wasn't good at it. He just hadn't put in the effort.

"Yes Will, it is." In went the meat to sizzle in hot oil. "However, I do not have the level of empathy that you do. We may have to adapt to suit and… some people would say I have become… aloof in the process."

"Seams." That was it, and it settled in him like a comfortable state of knowing. "It felt like you were back behind a front piece, which... You usually don't give me that feeling."

"Perhaps it is how I appear to someone as sensitive as yourself when I am forced to...well, do my memory filing," Hannibal said. "It could be regarded as retreating back introspectively. I suspect the difference is I take a proactive interest in my state of mind."

Mentally packing up and doing the dusting. He'd need to either read up on it, or start actively trying. Maybe, eventually, he could try to emulate and empathize with Hannibal when he did it next. "It's very effective." And it kept everything at bay, apparently. Will finished cleaning the mushrooms, and then leaned back onto the stool to start cutting.

"I believe our esteemed colleague Dr Bloom might suggest it was too effective," he said lifting the pork into a large casserole dish. "She believes I control too much. Possibly she does not understand the strength of what it is that I have to control. But you do." It was a sudden direct statement and Hannibal's dark eyes met his.

He had a sensation of something moving behind those eyes, the kind of thing he was afraid someone would see behind his own eyes. Will managed to hold his gaze, longer than he usually managed, wondering through what fires Hannibal had already passed through to give him that kind of control, where a lesser person crumbled. A normal person crumbled.

Hannibal just nodded as if his point was proven and continued to lightly sauté onions as well.

It was something to turn over in his mind as he worked through making thin slivers of half of the mushrooms. It took concentration, and he curled his fingers in carefully, watching as he cut. He just... There was something niggling at his mind, a connection he just... Couldn't make. "You're still working through this set of memories."

"Yes. Even with practice this sort of...event...makes such an impact that...well it creates a rather large mass of mental paperwork."

It sounded clinical, unemotional and...Sane.

It made sense to Will, and he focused on being open to that. Controlled, and focused, but holding something back at the same time. Extra extra effort, and that might've been why Will was company to be sought out. "And you're... Keeping yourself in check." Whatever sort of sensitivities he had, whatever was tucked in among the memory palace. A Minotaur among the shelves. Will shifted, offered the prepared mushrooms.

"It is the only way to survive," he replied. "I am aware though that this might not be sufficient for your particular case. This is why I did not mention it before. I have been trying to get to grips with the peculiarities that your own genius requires."

Will made a derisive noise, because genius wasn't the right word for losing sight of himself in the presence of a madman. "As it is now, I deteriorate with every case. Eventually, I'm *going* to cross a line. If I haven't already."

"You have not." In went the onions, and then a generous measure of the cider, and cider vinegar. "I believe you are in a state of hypersensitivity, caused by a desperation fueled grip on the present day. You are unable to let go, to start unknotting yourself."

"You're right there." He licked his bottom lip, watched Hannibal add the ingredients with a straight pour precision that Will recognized was a bartender's counting technique -- very showy, required good knowledge of the bottle neck and the viscosity of the liquid. Will adjusted his glasses, and then took them off to rub his eyes. He wasn't really at risk of taking a fingertip off just then, and he didn't usually wear them in the house.

"Have you ever been able to let go of your control at all Will? Completely?"

"No." His voice pitched a little, half disbelief that it was even a question to be asked.

"I see." There was a long silence as if Hannibal were contemplating something.

"I can't." He wasn't sure why he was arguing the point, but it alarmed him to think about. 

"There is a way," Hannibal said slowly. "But it may require a level of intimacy in our relationship you might not be comfortable with. I value our friendship too much to compromise it."

"That's heartening?" He leaned his elbows on the counter, and rubbed fingers against the edge of his brow bone. "I... once had a girlfriend who I *saw* like I see our killers. It makes letting go... Hard. Or, hysterically disastrous. I have some great stories, and I'm sure I've *left* my various partners over the years with some great stories."

"I am interested in what you mean Will," Hannibal said as he almost absently sautéed the mushrooms just a little, in a little of the cider.

There was very likely nothing at all absent about it. "Getting lost in the wrong moment, or... Being someone else you know they'd been with." He was trying to avoid stories, but they were there crowding at him, metaphorical pick-mes. "Molly was dating a aa baseball player. Farm team, but good. They broke up, a structured time out, but what she needed, wanted, was him."

"And did you give that to her?" Hannibal asked curiously, pausing for just a moment.

"Completely. Lost myself in it. She reacted... Probably better than most women would have." Will shifted in the chair, watching Hannibal's careful hand movement. "We talked afterwards, and she married him three months later. I was invited, but declined."

"It would have been difficult to stand there with those thoughts demanding that you should be marrying her," Hannibal said. "Have you ever explored what you want in a relationship? Rather than responding to their needs?"

"No." He could go through the entire catalogue, and while there were things he wanted, his partner trumped everything. Or, the person shooting him down unequivocally. "Have you?"

"Yes." Hannibal said that as if it was simple. He put the last ingredients in the casserole dish and seasoned it carefully. "Perhaps I should ask what you desire."

"Damned if I know." It was a vague, esoteric concept, and he was pretty sure it wasn't something he should be discussing with Hannibal given what had happened to him. 

"Then to narrow it down...physically, what do you desire?" Hannibal asked putting the dish in the oven and methodically starting to clear up.

"I'm flexible." Or the dust that clung to his soul was flexible, multi-faceted. "Trustworthy and competent is always a good start."

"What have you enjoyed in the past?" Hannibal asked.

"Ah, that's a little easier." Will shifted to wash the cutting board. "People who I can spend time with without wanting to smother them. I've tried a little of everything, boring to risqué. It all has its appeals."

"Indeed." Hannibal agreed to that. "I find that under certain circumstances, being grounded back in your body with sensation is a powerful short cut to the long road of therapy."

Grounded back into the body, through sex. Sensation. Either, both, intimate, and crossing boundaries. He watched Hannibal in silence for a few more moments, before he offered, "Is that a common psychiatrist pickup line?"

Hannibal gave a very low chuckle. "Only if they want a very short time in the profession. It is fortunate I never have taken you on as my patient though."

No, they were just having conversations. That seemed a lot like being a patient. Will lowered his head, watching as Hannibal wiped the work surface on his side clean. "It is. I'm... I'm afraid right now that if we tried anything, you'd end up right back where you were."

"I know. You are still living with his thoughts in your head, and his sexual fantasies," he said. "I am sure they are very arousing."

The bare suggestion made it worse, made him imagine Hannibal in the middle of that pile of dogs, one of them, one of *his*, ass up and ready, collared and marked, and entirely, inside and out, his. "I have you, friendly and compliant and *easy* in my house, in my *pack*. He is *singing* with tamped down joy at the fringes of my consciousness."

"And you?" Hannibal did not seem be at all perturbed by that revelation. "I do not want to bring *him* pleasure but you...if that was something you wanted..."

"I don't know anymore. I can't separate myself out from the anymore." It was why he'd been afraid of being institutionalized, because there were moments, streaks of clarity before he did something that left him swallowed whole again.

"Maybe it is something you can think about," Hannibal said. Everything was neatly cleaned up, and being washed.

"I'm going to go sit on the porch and try to tire the dogs out." An explanation and an excuse in one, but he needed to think about it, turn it around in his mind before he did anything... That he couldn't apologize out of.

"I will finish clearing up," Hannibal said. "I might have a rest."

"All right." He reached for his crutches, and started an off balance hobble for the front door, trying gathering up his dogs a bit like a pied piper. It was easy to grab a tube of tennis balls from near the door.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about the suggestion. He wanted to just push it away, but that was the problem. It wasn't staying pushed away.

He just concentrating on the dogs, who were ecstatic. Sat heavily on the edge of the steps, and stretched his wounded leg out before he started throwing the balls around, getting them whipped into a happy frenzy. Maybe the best thing to do was rebuff the suggestion entirely.

But the mere thought of it was making him want contact...but then how could he trust himself? Did he dare do that with Hannibal - Hannibal who seemed almost asexual most of the time? How much had he been hiding?

Was he actually asexual, or just...? It was hard to guess, and Will had never tried emphasizing with him. There was too much smooth surfaces, like radar on a stealth fighter, too much reflection. The suggestion itself was reflection, but what was behind the mirror?

The hints were something was imprisoned there, kept in check. Hannibal was a success story, and maybe he out to listen to him. But then...

But then he wouldn't be trying to match Hannibal's perfect lover if he did. People were seldom interested in having sex with themselves, Will included. Hannibal had similar problems, or had once had them, but not the same. They were rather unlike each other, and it was in that fact that he could intuit something. He just wasn't sure what he was intuiting. Openness, innocence, maybe, except Will was nothing of the sort.

Maybe he felt it was in comparison. Maybe he felt he was darker than he actually was...he could not be this dark. But he did understand taking of life, he did have insight into what he did and...He had been right each time about how close Will had been to the edge.

Completely right. He was still, still not tracking... Completely right, but the anxiety was edged back for the moment. He leaned forward a little, and started to throw out tennis balls for the dogs to throw themselves after. In his safe space, he could keep it together. It was the rest of the world that was a threat.

There was no threat to him here. Unless it was a threat to his way of thinking about himself. That he would always have to live alone surrounded by dogs or something. 

Winston was back with a ball first, and Will reached for it, taking a moment to curl fingers through soft soft fur. That... Was an actively depressing thought. He found comfort for his dogs, but it was creature comfort. Therapy dog comfort, a sense of warmth and protection, a dog's love. But it wasn't... What he wanted. He didn't want a dog like that, and while the associated imagery were appealing, he didn't want Hannibal as a dog.

It was an oddly relieving thought.

He wondered if this was what Hannibal was talking about. That was a thought from himself, he was sure about that. Something...his. He didn't want the effort of being someone's perfect partner. It was never what they really wanted. Fuck it, what was he worried about? Himself or...Hannibal?

"You're lucky to be a dog, Winston." He threw the ball back out, and found another attention begging head underneath of his hand, soft feathers and the hard creature looming into his sunlight, making him scramble back hard.

No, no, this had to be a hallucination. Had to be. The stag was there, staring at him. Staring like a challenge to him, leaning in closer to snuff his scent. It was closer than ever, more real, and more solid.  
And yet some of the dread was dissolving away.

He was mostly too tired to care, to fear, too drained. He reached his hand up to stroke the muzzle, moving slowly, just to see what would happen.

He felt something, not the touch of fur but feel of smooth skin, and the stag dissolved away, leaving Hannibal looking at him.

"Mm. Are you see me now?"

Cheek, side of his cheek, and Will dropped his hand slowly, watching as Hannibal gingerly settled beside him on the wide wooden porch edge. "Hannibal?"

"I take it I was not presenting as myself?" Hannibal asked. “You have been out here a while, and I just came out to check on you."

"You were the raven feathered stag. I saw it in the hospital going down a corridor." He rubbed at his eyes, and looked out over the field. It was starting to grow darker, and the dogs were circled in closer. Time to go inside.

"Interesting. I wonder if it is symbolic of a prey animal," Hannibal mused. "It is something you see frequently."

"It's not prey." Will could feel his lips pulling back, almost offended by the suggestion. "He's... Threatening, full of knowing, and I can't... I don't know."

"Well a mystery as yet to be unraveled," Hannibal said. "You are cold Will. You should come in and rest a little before dinner."

It left him feeling shaken, trying to turn the thought over in his mind as he struggled to stand up again. "Thanks. I... Dammit." Stag, threat, another male vying for dominance, feathers, ravens, ravens were death and wisdom, Odin trading an eye for wisdom, parceling himself into ravens of great import, messengers, no, psychopomps, and he could taste it, felt the stag at his back again when Hannibal steadied him with one strong, wrapped hand.

"Don't push it Will, let the revelation come upon you at the right time," Hannibal said. 

He leaned into Hannibal, still trying to work out when he'd seen it before. Edge of his door, a challenge, in a field, falling. In the hospital, walking through, both times, stalking and watching, and not harming him. "I hate this."

"I know. It is a loss of control. But you are tired, and the good work we began you undid, sacrificing your sanity to assist in my rescue," he said.

"My supposed sanity is no great loss. If I hadn't found you..." He would have collapsed altogether. He didn't need to say it, Hannibal would understand.

"You have a greater internal strength than you believe," Hannibal said. "I believe your living room area is an effective 'safe zone'. I have remade your comfort zone on the sofa, and I hope you will not find it disturbing if I am there reading."

"We're going to run out of books." He smiled though, and they were inside shortly, heading to the sofa. The dogs were seemingly acclimating to Hannibal, a little less excited he was there. The sofa was comfortable, if old and battered, and there was his familiar blankets on it, a pillow down as well. "Should I set a timer on my watch for dinner?"

"It is a dish we can come to when we wish it. If you are asleep, you would do well to make the most of the rest." He said.

He toed off his shoes stiffly, awkwardly, and tucked them under the sofa as he sat down. It was a relief to lean his weight on his good hip, to pull the blankets around him tightly.

"Are you warm enough?" Hannibal asked. "You should drink this. We will save the alcohol for dinner." He passed him something that was most definitely not a coffee but some sort of sweet almost chai like tea.

"When did you make this?" Ad how long had he been out on the porch? "Thank you, it's... Very good." Anise, and cardamom, vanilla and cinnamon, and sugar melted into it, strong black tea taste.

"Full of flavor but settling rather than stimulating," Hannibal agreed. “Your time sense is skewed Will."

"Completely," Will said, slouching down with his hands cupped around the mug, breathing it in as he got comfortable. "I wish it wasn't. I think I did exhaust the dogs, though."

"You should investigate the neurological symptoms if rest causes no improvement," Hannibal advised from where he sat with his own drink and a book as well. He looked oddly at home and comfortable where he was sitting. 

Then again, the man carried his own internal fort with him. Why *wouldn't* he be comfortable? But it still felt like an odd measure of trust, and Will wasn't sure why it was important that Hannibal trust him. It simply was, and he contemplated it for a few moments, watched the way Hannibal's fingers lingered on the edge of a page before turning it slowly, soft sffft of noise in the air barely louder than the wagging of Rudy's tail. He was contemplating hopping onto the sofa, Will could tell. "What neurological symptoms do you think there are?"

"Everything that you are experiencing could in theory have a neurological basis," Hannibal said calmly. "Temporal perception anomalies, Hallucinations, mood swings, sleep disorders, appetite loss. Likewise it could be due to severe mental stress."

Everything he said was calmly, everything he did was calmly. Will closed his eyes for a moment, still focused on breathing in the tea. "So you're saying I might just be sick in the more... standard definition of the term." Mood swings, mood swings was a new one, and he was *pretty* sure he hadn't actually had that. That he'd noticed.

"It is a possibility. Certainly one that should be eliminated if there is no improvement after a little rest. If you were my client, I would be recommending that first of all." Hannibal replied turning a page.

Not that Will was his client. Not in. Any official, traceable capacity. "I'll look into it when I go back later this week to get my stitches looked at."

"I can recommend a specialist if necessary. I still keep up with the medical community," Hannibal said.

"Thanks." He shifted, opened his eyes to look across at Hannibal for a moment. The tea left him feeling muted, drowsy, and oddly heavy. Was it the tea, or just the warmth of being under blankets while dressed?

Hannibal smiled a little. "I'll keep watch," he promised. “And call you for dinner."

Will took another sip of the tea, and then set it aside carefully on the coffee table before he curled up to sleep.

* * *

Dinner had gone well - he'd let Will sleep until mid-evening before rousing him for the good calorie rich dinner, complete with decent fresh veg and a good wine. He had purchased good meat...none of his private stock so far, and it had been melt in the mouth. 

Will had insisted on completing the clearing up and Hannibal considered his course of action. He hadn't mentioned the possibility of sex again.

Will was not a stupid man, and he did not need things repeated to him. It was a bold suggestion, and it was better to let William consider it at his own pace. He was clearly still struggling with the ideations of his last target, openly and obviously so. And he was aware of it enough that pulling the rug out from under him in that moment would be a challenge to do it unnoticed. But he could bait, subtly, casually.

Let him come close to him, see his skin, see his wounds. He timed it carefully and then took himself up to the shower though he had already had one that day, planning it carefully so that Will would either come looking for him...he had the pack instinct at the fore at the moment, and catch him struggling to redress his hand wounds, while half wrapped in a towel.

It might prove enough of a temptation.

It was carefully calculated, and calculated to seem natural, restrained for him as expected, but cautious. The room was steamy and warm by the time he stepped out, the scent familiar. He'd had the forethought to bring his own soap and shampoo so he didn't have to reek of some vile iteration of old spice.

Will's stumbling steps up the stairs were telling, hindered and helped by the crutch, and he was sitting on the toilet seat, attempting to blot dry his injuries without reopening them. He allowed himself to become absorbed in it so he didn't react the moment Will pushed open the door. He swabbed awkwardly, trying to clean the wound site with his other injured hand, grimacing as he did so, with a very faint hiss. He deliberately allowed that reaction.

There was quite a bit of pain involved, but it was nothing he couldn't sublimate with a little effort. Will was quiet, crutch leaned against the door when he limped into the room. "Let me help."

He looked up allowing a little statement to show. "I am finding this more difficult than I first hoped," he admitted.

"Okay." Will perched precariously on the edge of the bathtub, and gestured for Hannibal to turn toward him, while he reached for the antibiotic cream. "Does it hurt?"

Yes, but he had long mastered the ability of experiencing pain. He could detach it, or embrace it, play it like a symphony or block its affect, "Yes," he said and exhaled. "Both hands being hurt is…hard."

Just as he hoped...Will was drawn to it, drawn to the hurt.

Will wished to fix things, fix the world, one broken life at a time, one person held back from death's embrace at a time. Despite everything, Will still cared. He had his glasses on again, eyes tipped low to inspect Hannibal's palms first, carefully applying the antibiotic cream thinly.

Touch was not something either of them indulged in much and it was all the more powerful for that. He let Will do it carefully, feeling the sensation shift from careful to almost hypnotic.

It was more of a weak point he was offering Will than pain, allowing him to carefully tend to his palms, the backs of his hands, the nearly stitched hollow that left two fingers too widely spaced apart to look right. Then he carefully placed the non-stick gauze, before wrapping it with tape. It was a lulling, heavy sensation, that closeness, and he could *smell* Will.

It was...delicious. He had the scent of arousal on him, of aching need. "Mmm. Thank you Will. It feels much better." He stayed leaning in close.

He wanted, and he was denying himself. There was control tucked into Will, but no guessing how much longer it would hold. They were almost knee to knee, and Will didn't move away after he thanked him. "I should have caught him the first time. Done it right."

"It was not your fault," Hannibal said softly. Nothing like a nebulous forgiveness to stir a sweet angst in the soul. He could practically taste it like the finest bitter dark chocolate.

Lingering, heady at the back of his tongue and up to the roof of his mouth, and Will leaned in, eyes closed, head tipped just so, smelling him, smelling hand milled soap, the Vert, subtle and alluring to a woodsy sort like Will. And Hannibal wasn't sure what else, but he held still while Will lingered.

He wanted the first move to be from Will. It had to be from him to give the plan a real possibility for the future. He would remember *him* making the first move, not that he was seduced to it. It would feel genuine, spontaneous...real.

Will shifted, and there was a soft noise of pain as he moved forward, just before he brushed his nose against the skin of Hannibal's neck, a precursor motion heralding the lingering press of lips against his skin.

He let a sound out himself; a slow exhale, with a hint of trembling uncertainty. Just that delicate seasoning of vulnerability that Will needed at the moment even as he turned into the kiss, a tactile seeking motion.

There was a desperate hunger to Will's kiss when their lips finally met, pulling wildly at leash while Will touched fingers at the edge of his jaw. So gentle and so wanting, reigning himself in even as he increased the pressure.

Then he responded. Wakening his kiss from something aloof, to a firestorm in the blood. As if Will had touched and wakened something he had been hiding from the world. A passion that lurked behind the seams that were showing, pushing at them when his control failed.  
It was clear he needed and wanted him, and he was willing to go whatever direction necessary to hook Will. Later they could settle into roles but now...he would play whatever role was needed.

He'd read it as he went, and it was hard to pick up more than the sheer wanting, the shaking need as Will tried to get closer, both hands on Hannibal now, fingers unsteady before he broke back. Slowly, like he'd stunned himself.

"Will?" He made it as much an entreaty as a question. "There is no harm here."

"I don't want to hurt you." No apologies, no denials, though, and Will's eyes were focused on Hannibal's cheekbone, poor mimicry of eye contact.

"Do you want to?" Hannibal asked reaching with his bandaged hand to cup Will's cheek and tilt it just a little. Will was trying to read him and finding him written in a different language.

He'd adjust, he'd learn a new language. He was already practicing his pidgin, reaching and grasping hard. "How, after what he did to you, I don't want to make it worse..." 

"I have… complicated tastes," Hannibal murmured. "There is a reason it did not touch me as deeply as they felt it should." Let him mull over that possibility, inflame what he desire.

Will gave a soft, shaky laugh, and let his hands idle down to Hannibal's shoulders. "Okay. That doesn't... okay. I don't, won't, hurt you..." He brushed his lips against Hannibal's mouth again, and seemed to be struggling in his head with what exactly he wanted.

"Shh, you do what you want to do..." Hannibal murmured into his mouth, and kissed him again to redirect that tormented mental loop into physicality.

Take the edge of the thread and pull, slowly, wind it out of him. Will was trying to sit up, stand up, trying to do more than he was quite capable of with a crippled hip. He kissed him back more passionately, unraveling slowly.

It was easy enough then to move towards the bed, and murmur Will's name as they settled on to it carefully. What their movements lacked in passion, Hannibal made sure that the kiss wouldn't. He deliberately fumbled at trying to undo Will's shirt, and his towel was easy to let slip and reveal a body still blooming with the marks of his captivity.

Either Will would take pity, which would be a shame, or he would find himself inflamed. From the tone of Will's groan, it was the latter, the way he slid a hand down to palm over a bruise, shifting in closer as he kissed Hannibal again, body positioned quite welcomingly as if he were trying to draw Hannibal in. 

Good, just as he anticipated. He drew in, allowing skin to skin as he got Will's shirt off, letting him explore over his skin as he fumbled with his pants.

He could feel the want, the *need*, in the unsteadiness of Will's fingertips, in the way he lifted his hips, let Hannibal stumble with his pants. No 'maybe we should slow down', no, any of that was rumbling safely in the confines of Will's own mind, and coming out only as startled noises of enjoyment as he slid his hands down Hannibal's back.

It had been a long time for Will from the sounds of it and Hannibal knew how to bring that to a very satisfactory conclusion for the both of them. He knew how to use the finally honed tool of Will's imagination to work for them both. He just had to judge the moment where Will needed it too much to not be thrown off course by the suggestions.

He had Will in a good position, though, no weight on his hip, and of course, already on top of the mattress, with greedy, desperately clutching hands touching Hannibal. His awareness, and worry about the injuries Hannibal had suffered apparently had faded back, lost in kisses and physical attention he had not felt for some time. It was hard to say that he was himself unaffected, because there was a suggestion in the way Will brought a hand up to rest his thumb against the hollow of his throat.

He could use that, like he always did. Take the experience and use it, make the power of it his own, turn from an ordeal into a tool. 

"I survived by imagining you," he murmured in a barely audible voice. "That I had chosen it and you...."

Will stilled, as if Hannibal had nestled a knife neatly between his ribs, and then exhaled with the intended withdrawal of that blade. "In no, no world is this healthy, Hannibal..." He closed his eyes, drew his fingers up along the side of Hannibal's neck, felt the difference between normal skin and abraded. Felt it physically, and felt it emotionally, Hannibal knew, felt it deep in his chest and heavy in his groin.

"You can feel it there, the collar," he said knowing that with Will's gift he would see it, feel it. "I know you've thought about it while you've been riding his mind. Wanting it. But the Will I know....the Will sits inside wanting not the degradation but the willingness. Did you imagine me collared and leashed and looking at you like you were my whole world?"

"It wouldn't work. It would all be a farce, you can't *be* leashed." But he was nodding even as he said the words because the visuals appealed to him. He was kneeling over Will's thighs, and he could smell blood faint in the air when he stroked a bandaged hand along Will's side. Will's fingers moved, curling around to the back of his neck.

"But you enjoy the thought," Hannibal said. "Mm. Beautiful. Of someone giving that back willingly, and nuzzling in close." His hand slipped between their bodies, allowing the comparative roughness of the wound dressing slide over Will's engorged cock. "Tell me Will, I want to know...I want to hear it..."

"Uhn, oh god." His hand spasmed against the back of Hannibal's neck, and his other hand pulled, tried to draw his body in closer. "I can't, I, I want you so badly, I shouldn't, I'll hurt you, you shouldn't." He tucked his face against Hannibal's neck, closed teeth pressed against skin to muffle back words that Will knew were unappealing to anyone else. 

"What are you afraid of Will? Speaking a desire can bring it from the shadows. We do not have to act on it," he coaxed leaning in to nuzzle at Will's neck and then he whispered "Or we can… if we choose."

"I want to, to undo what he did, do it right, like you deserve... You, you should be cherished, regarded, not..." Will shifted, moved a hand to reciprocate 

"Yes..." It was nearly a hiss of delighted agreement because it was a definite step, an admission of need. "Yes, like I imagined...what I wanted. What would you do Will, to make it right?"

Silence, and Will exhaling unsteadily, playing it out in his mind with so little prompting. "Take care of you, I'd give you any escape you wanted... Take away any responsibilities you don't want, I'd pleasure you until you couldn't stand it..."

"Oh yes..." Hannibal murmured. "Yes, Will I think I would like that. And I think you would like it too..." He smiled genuinely then, because Will was offering his own submission for all they were talking about him topping at this point. And that was exactly as he had planned. "I want you."

There were injuries hindering them both, but Will was the fish who had willingly jumped onto the baited hook. "Let me show you what I want to make you feel..."

He could graciously grant permission. It would provide a good reason for wanted to reciprocate in a 'special' manner at a future date. "Please..." he asked playing to vulnerability, though he noted Will's instinctive disbelief in him being able to be beaten and leashed.

It was an excellent instinct. The fingers on the back of his neck clutched tight for a moment, then went slack again, caressing, while Will shifted. "Here, lay down. Please."

He did so, exuding trust. Of course Will was thinking of him like he was a normal rape victim. Foolish but useful. He was interested to see how skilled Will could actually be.

And Will followed, shrugging his pants the rest of the way off from where they had caught around his knees. He was hard, and well-groomed naked, the non-stick gauze at his hip partially oozed through as he knelt over Hannibal, resuming with the kissing. For a man with an imagination so vast, Hannibal had high hopes.

Sex had not been a high priority for him for some time. The physical aspect was pleasurable but it was little different than masturbation. He had become more than an animal instinct. But Will woke a kindred spark; he appealed on many levels.

The opportunity for something more than a physical coupling, something more lasting than a few sweaty nights. Will moved away from his lips, started to kiss the marks on his neck with care -- not just kisses, but licking, almost apologetic, but tasting the wounds nevertheless, while one hand stroked down Will's chest.

He made appreciative noises carding fingers through Will's hair as if he was petting a dog himself.

The pressure of tongue pointing purposefully against one mark made Hannibal shiver despite himself, felt his balls start to draw up in reaction to it. The carding petting was apparently quite welcomed.

A point to not. He would enjoy cataloguing Will's reactions until he could play him like a virtuoso fiddle.

And he would, quite soon.


End file.
